


Give Me Fuel, Give Me Fire

by 221BJen (jcoz1701), faceisamess



Series: Fuel and Fire [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Powers, Car Accidents, Car Sex, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, M/M, Major Character Injury, Mechanic Bucky Barnes, Stucky Big Bang 2017, fast and the furious au, undercover Steve Rogers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-20
Updated: 2017-08-20
Packaged: 2018-12-17 22:47:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 41,762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11861211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jcoz1701/pseuds/221BJen, https://archiveofourown.org/users/faceisamess/pseuds/faceisamess
Summary: Brooklyn detective Steve Rogers finds his loyalty tested when he goes undercover to investigate a group at the center of a series of high speed heists. He doesn’t know what to make of James Barnes and his family of choice, but he wants to know more. Drag races, muscle cars and intense attraction leave Steve wondering if he’s in way too deep. Spoiler alert: Definitely.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Art from faceisamess is added in Chapter 1!!! 
> 
> Thank you to my betas Callie4180, EnduringChill and gowerstreet. Once I figure out how to link you, I will!

CHAPTER 1

“Run it again.” 

The traffic cams showed sparse late night traffic for a few moments and then two low slung dark cars blew by at a high rate of speed. With a click, the footage changed from camera to camera, following the progress of the speeding cars as they converged on the truck. 

One traffic cam showed the heavy military transport and then, in quick succession, the dark cars as they pulled up on either side of it. The cars appeared on the dash cam on either side of the truck’s hood, so close that only the top edge of the tinted windows and the roof line was visible. 

“Here it comes.”

The sunroof opened on the car on the passenger’s side of the truck and a black-clad figure climbed onto the top of the car. His movements were confident, somehow at ease clinging to a speeding vehicle. The dash cam jerked as the truck moved toward the car, the movement mirrored on the driver’s side cam as the driver took evasive measures. The dark car moved effortlessly onto the sidewalk, the figure still visible on the roof. It flicked back toward the truck and the figure used the momentum to fling himself onto the hood of the truck. The black car peeled off as the dash cam captured the smooth progress of the man as he pulled himself to the passenger side of the truck. 

The driver had the instinct to lock the door, but that was useless. The window bowed in as the safety glass held for a moment and then gave up as the man  _ punched _ through it with his left fist. The black gloved hand groped inside the door before popping the lock and ripping the door open, the man swinging himself inside the cab. The man’s eyes were covered with goggles and some sort of mask obscured the lower part of his face. Dark hair that had come free from where it had been pulled back whipped around his face from the wind coming in through the broken window. 

A gun appeared in the man’s hand as if from thin air and he spoke to the driver. There was no sound on the recording, but the driver’s mouth moved as he answered the man’s demands. The truck deviated from its original course, obviously at the direction of the black clad man. A few moments later the man spotted the cameras in the cab. The dash cam went dark. The driver’s side cam’s screen filled with a hand coming toward it and then the screen went black.

“I can see why you called me on this one.” FBI Director Nick Fury leaned against a table, arms crossed. Chief Phillips nodded. “What’s your play?”

“We have a theory.” Phillips snapped his fingers at the young man in charge of the computer, and three mug shots lined up neatly on the screen. “We don’t have anything approaching solid proof, but we think these three are involved somehow. There are two more in their ‘crew’,” Phillips disdain of the word apparent, “but they don’t have a record.” Two more pictures showing a young woman talking to a young man appeared next to the mug shots. They looked so much alike that they had to be siblings, possibly even twins. Phillips looked at the man standing next to Director Fury, hands clasped behind him in an easy parade rest. “Wilson, you want to take it from here?”

FBI Agent Sam Wilson nodded and stepped forward to face the two older men. “We need to send someone to see what they can see. Even if Barnes, Romanov and Barton aren’t directly involved, they’ll know who is.” 

Director Fury gave him an incredulous look. “How the hell do you expect to do that? Do you have any idea how closed off these people are?” He shook his head. “Alright, I’ll bite. Who did you have in mind? You?”

Agent Wilson laughed. “No sir, I’m in no way qualified for this one. I don’t speak the language.”

“Language?”

“Cars, sir.”

“But you  _ do  _ have someone in mind?”

Agent Wilson nodded. “Parker, pull up Detective Rogers’ file.”

Windows cascaded on the screen, ending with the picture of a handsome but stern man in uniform, a list of commendations running down beside it. Fury leaned in closer, reading the list quickly. “Impressive. What makes him qualified for this?”

Agent Wilson grinned. “Take a look at his juvenile record, sir. He definitely speaks the language.” Parker brought up the indicated file and Fury leaned in again. He stood, looking at Agent Wilson with raised eyebrows. Agent Wilson laughed and then coughed, covering his grin with his hand. “See what I mean?”

Director Fury looked from Agent Wilson to Chief Phillips, assessing them both. “I see there was a gap in his record last year, what was that?”

Agent Wilson fidgeted and looked to Chief Phillips to answer the question. “Family leave. Death in the family. He took it pretty hard, but he’s fine now.” Agent Wilson looked away, uncomfortable.

“And you’re both in agreement on this?” Director Fury looked at the two men who nodded confidently. “Alright. Let’s bring him into the base and get him started before another truck gets hit.”

Agent Wilson pulled out his phone. “I’ll make the call, sir.”

\--

_ I’ve been drivin’ all night, my hand’s wet on the wheel…. _

Brake. Clutch. Shift. 

_ There’s a voice in my head that drives my heel... _

The back end swung around and Steve knew that he was only a few feet from the rusting equipment at the far end of the abandoned factory lot but he couldn’t bring himself to care.

_ It’s my baby callin’, says I need you here… _

He took in a breath, held it. Let it out to the sound of tires screaming on the pavement.

_ And it’s a half past four and I’m shiftin’ gears… _

The engine roared as he shifted gears and flew down the length of the lot. He wondered what would happen if he kept going, if he didn’t bother slowing down, smashing into the brick wall at the end. He stomped on the brake and clutch instead, screeching to a halt, his breath coming hard. 

He felt the tears on his face and wiped them away. He didn’t have time for this. Didn’t have time for anything but getting the job done. No one cared that Steve Rogers, the big-shot, tough as nails cop, missed his mom with a fierceness that surprised even him sometimes. 

The car was supposed to be hers. He’d bought it and started to work on fixing it up, but all of that had come to a halt when she got sick. He’d shown her pictures of it in the hospital, and her eyes had brightened at the sight of it. It had been her dream car. She had talked about it as long as he could remember. A 1969 Boss 302.  _ Dark blue, Stevie. Like the night sky.  _

Now it was his. He’d taken the time off last year after she’d died to finish it, and mourned the fact that she was never able to see it.

_ When she’s lonely and the longing gets too much _

_ She sends a cable comin’ in from above… _

Steve reached over and hit pause on his phone. His eyes in the rearview mirror were red-rimmed, but not too bad. No one would know. Steve had gotten very good at hiding who he was. That was about to come in handy.

Sam’s call had come on the morning following a bad night. He’d slept like shit after his shift, and had woken up exhausted and worn. It was why he’d taken the car out in the first place. He needed it. Needed to feel the pull of the torque as he hurtled the sleek, shining car around the lot. He shouldn’t even have been there, but he’d become friends with the guys that patrolled this beat, so he wasn’t worried about getting into trouble. They’d look the other way. Normally, that wasn’t something Steve would take advantage of, but last year had changed him. It had changed everything. He still felt hollow. 

It had been just him and his mom for years, his dad lost to Desert Storm when Steve was just a few years old. It had been the two of them against the world, his mom working long nursing shifts to make sure he had everything he needed. She’d been so proud when he’d graduated from the Academy, and then even more so when he made detective. Then she’d gotten sick. The cancer had been relentless, and eventually, chemo wasn’t worth the pain and nausea that confined her to a bed. She decided that she’d rather have a few good months than another year of pain and misery. It had broken his heart watching her deteriorate so quickly, but she had been at peace with it. 

She had made him promise to take care of himself when she was gone. It was the last thing she would ask him before he left her each night to go home, and it was the only reason that he’d taken the time off. He’d thrown himself into fixing up the Mustang because it would have made her proud and he felt he owed her to finish it. Some days it was the only thing that dragged him out of bed in the morning. 

He looked at the time. He needed to put away the car and meet Sam at his place to go to the briefing. One more lap and then he’d be done.

\--

“Hey, man!” Sam was waiting for him at the front door of his building and Steve couldn’t help smiling. Sam was one of his oldest friends even though he’d only known him for a few years. Steve considered it a minor miracle that he’d put up with him for this long.

A one-armed hug, and that was the most physical contact that Steve had experienced in days. In fact, the last hug had also been from Sam, when he had gone to Sam’s place to watch a game and drink some beer. It had been the first time in a long time that Steve had gotten himself out of his apartment for the night. He hadn’t dated since before his mom had gotten sick and that had just been a few dates with Sharon Carter from Homicide. He knew he needed to get out more, but couldn’t make himself do it. It was the main reason that he had agreed to this assignment. 

The place where they were headed was just a few blocks away, so they decided to walk. That gave Sam plenty of opportunity to turn on his concerned face before they were in front of the higher ups. “You took the Boss out.” 

“Yeah. Just felt like it, I guess.”

Sam was a bit ridiculous about that car. He called that damn car the Boss every time, even though Steve had explained to him that wasn’t its name. And it made Steve sound like a douchebag that would name his car The Boss. So, of course, Sam did it, to get an annoyed grin out of Steve everytime. 

They had stopped on the way to grab coffee because Sam assured him that the coffee on offer at the base would be horrible. “You guess?” And there was the concerned face again. In another life, Sam would have made an excellent therapist. “Bad night?” Steve nodded and Sam’s frown deepened. “Look, if you’re not up for this, we can figure something else out.”

“I’m fine, Sam.” Steve narrowed his eyes at the skeptical look. “I am.” 

Sam took a drink of his coffee. “Okay. But you’ll let me know if you’re not fine. Because it’s-”

“-okay not to be fine. Yeah, you’ve said.” Steve rolled his eyes but couldn’t help the fond smile. Sam’s worry was coming from a good place, and he couldn’t fault him for that. He wasn’t sure what he would have done without Sam, to be honest. He was a good friend.

The building that they stopped in front of was nice, nicer than Steve’s building for sure. Sam pushed the buzzer, and they were let in. The elevator took them to the penthouse apartment and dumped them out directly into a foyer. The entire place was buzzing with activity. What would have been a very nice living room was now full of tables and equipment, the very swanky marble fireplace in direct contrast to the pressboard folding tables. Steve took it all in, appreciating the efficiency with which it had been set up. “Where’d they come up with this place, anyway?”

“It was a generous donation.” Steve turned around at the unfamiliar voice and did his best not to stare at the eye patch. He knew of Nick Fury by reputation but had never had the pleasure of meeting him in person. The story of how he lost his eye was legendary and highly unlikely. An urban legend, to be sure. Sam saved him by jumping in to do introductions.

“Rogers, this is Director Nick Fury. Director, this Detective Steve Rogers.” Steve automatically reached out a hand to shake and got a sense of approval from the other man. He was being weighed and measured, and hopefully, he would pass. “Let’s get you up to speed, so to speak.”

The Director’s mouth twitched at the pun and Steve had a feeling that was as close as they’d get to an outright smile. Director Fury must like Sam. “Lead the way.”

\--

“Are you serious?” Director Fury had entrusted Sam to lay out the situation and Steve was having a hard time believing what he was seeing. It was like something out of an action movie. “How many of these have there been?”

“Five so far.”The still images from the videos that had been taken at each of the heists had been printed and placed on a large corkboard in chronological order. “All of them in the New York area, and all of them tied to the military in some way.”

“The military?” That was a little beyond the standard smash and grab. It reeked of careful planning and forethought. “What did they get?”

“That’s the weird part.” Sam tapped one of the pictures, which showed the close up of a hand pulling a briefcase through a smashed window. “They use the same MO each time. Fast cars, smashed windows and then they’re gone. Except,” he walked a step toward the most recent picture, “for this one.” Whoever had chosen the pictures had gone for maximum drama. The timeline started with the man roof surfing on the black car and ended with a closeup of the gloved hand that dismantled the camera. “They involved the driver for this one by holding a gun on him. That upgraded it to armed robbery. And,” Sam sighed, “they made off with some pretty heavy duty weaponry.”

“I’m guessing that’s not common knowledge.” Steve frowned at the board. “It makes no sense. They’ve got to be after something in particular, because there is no rhyme or reason that I can see.” He glanced at another board that held pictures of mug shots paired up with more official looking photos. “Did they hurt the driver?”

“Not a scratch. Scared the hell out of him but, other than needing a change of drawers, he was fine.” Sam pointed at the mug shots, paired with the uniformed photos. “From what we can tell, these three used to be military. It’s why they’re on the board.” 

“That can’t be the only reason.” Steve knew he’d hit on the heart of the matter from Sam’s smile. Sam pointed at the pictures underneath the three stern faces.

“These two, as far as we can tell, are part of the same crew as the others.”

“Crew?”

“Drag-racing.” Sam raised an eyebrow. “That’s where you come in.”

“Oh, so that’s how it is?”

“That’s how it is.”

\--

Steve left the FBI base of operations a few hours later. Sam had given him a flashdrive with all of the information that they’d gathered, along with a ‘super secret FBI laptop’ that was the only thing that the flashdrive was allowed to be plugged into. It’d taken more paperwork than Steve had been comfortable with to be able to leave with it. They hadn’t wanted him to but they needed his help, taking that choice out of their hands. Allowing him to work through it in his own way would be faster for everyone.

Now that he was back at his own place, he settled in to start taking the case apart. His mom would have laughed her ass off at the fact that his stint as a chronic joy rider when he was a teenager would be putting him in the path of a career-making investigation. He’d been a little punk back then, short and skinny and sickly before he finally hit a growth spurt. He’d never backed down from a dare, which was how it had started. People that he called friends got involved in boosting cars and they needed a driver. The fact that the car that they talked him into driving was surprisingly similar to the car that his mom always talked about may have played a role in a series of bad decisions. 

Steve wasn’t proud of his juvenile record, but he was proud that he had moved past it. He grabbed a beer from the fridge and parked himself on the couch with the laptop. As he waited for it to boot up, he remembered what Director Fury had told him. “As far as we can tell, the people that are pulling these jobs off are ghosts. They leave no trace and until two nights ago, no one had gotten closer to them than through a car window. They’re escalating, which means that we need to stomp on this now, before they can do whatever they’re planning to do with that shipment of weapons. That you don’t know about.” Fury had given him a hard look and that was all Steve needed to let him know how serious this was. 

The truck had been left, empty of course, in a public lot after the driver had been dumped out at another location. The driver had been thoroughly questioned, and it seemed he was uninvolved. Though, for an “Independent contractor,” he’d appeared to be well versed in how to drive a truck that size defensively. Steve filed that thought away for later and turned his attention back to the people that he was supposed to get in contact with.

James Barnes. Natalia Alianova Romanoff, aka Natasha Romanov. Clinton Barton. All ex-military. All honorably discharged under classified circumstances from the same equally classified unit. Steve supposed that it made sense for them to have a history. He’d never been in the military, but he could compare it to his time on the force. He knew who he could trust to watch his back, and who he couldn’t. 

Whoever was pulling off these thefts was a masterful driver. This was highly trained and precise. These three fit the profile with their collective backgrounds and it made a vague sort of sense for them to be involved. What didn’t make sense was the other two people in the file. Wanda and Pietro Maximoff. The twins were in their early twenties and had no military histories. “Two of these things are not like the others,” Steve sang softly under his breath, and then laughed at himself. 

He clicked on the file for James Barnes and started reading. The pictures were like polar opposites, two sides of the same coin. The military ID showed a serious young man with bright eyes and a cut jaw but there was light there. Hope. The mug shot, on the other hand, was harsher, with hair just grown out of regulation and heavy stubble. Like he’d given up that other life and never looked back. Steve shook his head. He needed to look at the facts, not dramatize. 

Drag racing. Assault. Steve read down the list of offenses and wondered how he’d managed to avoid jail time. All of the charges were over a year old and Steve read further to see where his current place of residence was. 

Then he saw it. His in. James Barnes owned a garage. From the Yelp reviews, Barnes Garage was well respected, giving polite and quick service. 

And it was how he was going to make contact. Steve needed something simple at first, something that would allow him to scope out the place and the people at the same time. He picked up his phone to make a call. “Hey, Sam? How do you feel about an upgrade to your car?”


	2. Chapter 2

CHAPTER 2

It had been a hard sell but Sam had finally agreed. But not without voicing his opinion. Repeatedly. 

“Why  _ my  _ car?”

“Because it’s a Honda, Sam.”

“But it’s a  _ nice _ Honda.”

“And  _ that _ is exactly why I’m doing this and you’re not.”

Sam squawked in indignation. “What is that supposed to mean? Why can’t you use  _ that _ ?” He waved his hand at the late model Challenger that was Steve’s daily driver, when he actually drove. Steve couldn’t hold back the smirk.

“Because it’s custom and they’ll get suspicious if I bring it in?” Steve leaned against the  _ nice _ Honda and crossed his arms. “I need something more, um, family-like.”

“Steven Grant Rogers, are you saying that I drive a mom car?” Steve held back a laugh. “Whatever, man. Just tell me you’re not going to break it on purpose just to take it to the garage.”

“Not exactly  _ break _ it-”

“Steve!”

“Fine. I’m just going to tweak it a little so that they’ll probably need to order a part.” Sam raised his eyebrows. “It’ll be fine, Sam. I promise. And it’ll give me at least two attempts to check out the shop.” Sam still looked skeptical and Steve decided to sweeten the pot. “And I’ll let you drive the Challenger for an afternoon.”

Sam’s face lit up. “Two afternoons and I can use it to take Hill out tonight.”

Steve rolled his eyes. “You drive a hard bargain. Now give me your keys.” He laughed at Sam’s whoop of excitement. 

\--

As Steve pulled up to the garage, his sweaty palms reminded him very quickly why he didn’t like to do undercover work. Or anything that involved lying, to be honest. Sam had set him up with a fake ID in the name of Steven Grant because, as Sam said, he was not great at this and they needed to keep it as simple as possible. He sat and breathed for a few moments, gripping the steering wheel. He could do this.

He parked and walked in the door, a bell ringing to announce his presence. Steve took in a deep breath, letting the smells of the garage calm him.  _ This _ he knew. This was familiar territory. He’d spent a lot of time in garages in his youth, and more recently while he was fixing up the Mustang. It was the only place he’d been able to find himself again. He could feel himself relax. He could do this.

Steve walked over to the battered desk where the younger girl from the pictures was sitting with heavily booted feet propped up on the desk, flipping through a fashion magazine. She looked up at him and smiled as he approached, friendly and bright. “How can I help you?” She had a bit of an accent that Steve couldn’t quite place. 

Steve plastered a sheepish grin on his face and went with the story that he’d practiced on the way over. “Um, I’m not sure what’s going on with my Honda. It was fine and then it started making this noise. It’s actually my friend’s car and he was nice enough to let me borrow it and-” She laughed and put a stop to his rambling.

“It’s okay! Give me the keys and I’ll have someone take a look at it.” She glanced through the glass that separated the front from the garage bays in the back. “It shouldn’t be too long, I think Nat is almost done.” Steve followed her eyes and caught sight of the petite redhead from the mug shots and military photos. Natasha Romanov. Steve dragged his eyes back to the young woman and dug the keys out of his pocket. “Pietro!” 

Steve blinked at her when she shouted. “Um…”

“Where is that asshole... oh, there he is.” She tossed the keys over Steve’s shoulder and he turned to see the young man from the photos. It made sense now. Pietro and Wanda Maximoff. The twins. The resemblance was even stronger in person. Pietro deftly caught the keys and gave Wanda a look that made her roll her eyes at him. “Take those to Nat. It’s the Honda Accord outside.” 

“What’s wrong with it?” Pietro’s voice was gruff but they sounded very much alike. It was similar to Russian but not quite. He looked at Steve. “You. What’s wrong with it?”

Steve didn’t even have to act flustered, he  _ was _ flustered. “Um, it’s my friend’s car and it just started making a weird noise and-”

Pietro cut him off and muttered something that sounded suspiciously like “Muggles” before walking away without another word. Wanda laughed behind him and Steve gave her a bewildered smile.

“Don’t mind him. He gets like that.” She pointed over to a few chairs that made up a small waiting area on the other side of the front space. “Take a seat. There’s coffee if you want. It’s actually good.” She seemed nice, in no way the type of person that would be involved in a major crime spree. He wondered how she fit in here.

“Thanks. I’ll just...” Steve nodded his head toward the seating area and she waved at him, settling back in her chair with her boots on the desk. He took the chair that allowed him to see the garage bays and took his phone out of his pocket. He pretended to play a game on it while he watched. Romanov finished with the SUV that she was working on and backed it out of the bay. She tossed the keys to Pietro and he gave her the keys to Sam’s Honda. He hoped that he hadn’t gone overboard. Just a tweak here and there. With luck, they’d have to order a part so he could come back. If not, he’d just have to think of something else.

He watched Romanov and Pietro exchange words before they were joined by a blond man that Steve quickly identified as Clint Barton. Steve got up to fix himself a cup of coffee to get a closer look. The three seemed friendly with each other, easily exchanging smiles. He could see a closed-in corner with large glass windows in the back that had to be an office. And there Steve got his first glance of James Barnes.

It had to be him. He was sitting so that he could see out into the rest of the garage, but something on the computer screen in front of him had his attention at the moment. He had long dark hair pulled back into a ponytail. Steve looked for the young man that was in Barnes’ military photo, hopeful and earnest. Barnes looked up and their eyes met. Steve blinked at him for a moment before realizing that he was still staring, because he was  _ terrible _ at this. Barnes gave him an odd look, but Steve was saved by a loud clang of something heavy hitting the concrete floor. Barnes jumped up to investigate, and Steve used the confusion to park himself back in a chair and bury his nose in a two year old copy of  _ Hot Rod Magazine _ . 

\--

Steve hadn’t been waiting long when the bell jingled, announcing another customer. It wasn’t the man himself, but Maximoff’s reaction to him that got his attention. Her heavy boots hit the floor and she grimaced like something nasty just came through the door. Steve continued to page through his magazine, but he was keeping an eye on the front desk. Wanda greeted the man with a forced smile, doing her best to be polite.

“Hey there, darlin’. Long time no see.” The man, well-muscled with close cropped black hair, leaned against the desk like he belonged there. Steve could see Maximoff flinch and kept watching, ready to do something if needed. One thing he couldn’t abide were men that pushed themselves into personal spaces just because they thought they had the right. 

“What can  _ we _ do for you?” Steve saw her glance toward the back, but the others weren’t paying attention. Brock looked that way as well, and the predatory grin on his face showed that he knew that there wasn’t going to be any interference from there. 

“What?” The tone was all false innocence. “I can’t just come by to visit?” He reached up to push a lock of dark hair behind her ear and she jerked back, covering the movement by reaching for some papers on the table behind her. She glanced up at Steve with wide eyes, and he couldn’t just sit there anymore. 

“Hey, um,” Steve blanked because he wasn’t supposed to know her name. “Sorry, I don’t know your name.” The man, Brock apparently, turned to him with a scowl, but Steve only had eyes for Wanda’s relieved face.

“Wanda. I’m Wanda.” She stuck out a slim hand that trembled when he shook it and he moved closer so that he was blocking her from the creep. “What can I do for you, um?”

“Steve. Steve...Grant.” He was not just terrible at this, he was  _ fucking terrible _ at this. At least he remembered the cover name in time. “I was just wondering how much longer it was going to be. I don’t want to be a pain, but I wasn’t sure if I needed to get a ride or something.”

“Hold on just a second, buddy.” Brock put his hand on Steve’s shoulder like he was going to push him away, but stopped when Steve looked down at the hand and then up into his face. Whatever he saw there gave him pause, but Brock was either too arrogant or too stupid to walk away. “I was talking to Wanda. You can wait until I’m done.” He made a shooing gesture. “Go back and sit down with your magazine or something.”

Steve crossed his arms, not budging. “I don’t think Wanda wants to talk to you very much.” He caught a frantic head shake from Wanda, but wasn’t sure what she was trying to say. Steve knew that he couldn’t start anything, but if this dick threw a punch, he could certainly finish it. 

Brock drew back and Steve set his feet, uncrossing his arms and keeping his hands loose. “What the hell do you know?” Brock poked a finger into his chest, but Steve ignored it. He was a professional. He wouldn’t make the first move.

But provoking him enough to get him out of the shop and away from Wanda? That he could do. “I know that you’re a jackass who won’t take no for an answer.” Brock’s eyes narrowed with fury, giving Steve a split second of warning before Brock sucker punched him. Steve staggered back, shaking his head before getting his bearings. Wanda’s horrified gasp pushed him into action and he threw himself at Brock, catching him in a tackle that pushed them both out of the door, making the bell ring wildly. 

They both hit the sidewalk with a grunt. Steve tried to push himself up to get some distance, but Brock grabbed him and they grappled for a few seconds, fighting to get an advantage. Things started to spiral out of his control when hands grabbed each one of his arms, yanking him up and holding him back. Brock got to his feet. 

He heard the door jingle behind them again. “Shit!” Wanda sounded terrified, and Steve was fairly sure that he was about to get his face pounded in. Sam was going to kill him. The door slammed shut, and he heard her scream, “Bucky!”

He had the vague thought ‘Who the hell is Bucky?’ before Brock punched him in the stomach, and all his breath left him in a rush. Brock went for the ribs next, and then another punch to the face. It felt like an eternity before the door opened again, even though it couldn’t have been more than a few seconds. Suddenly there was a body between him and Brock and the punching. Steve sagged with relief. The two men immediately let go of his arms and he slumped to the ground, feeling more than a little let down at the fact that he just got the shit beat out of him by a creeper in front of a garage in the middle of the day.

Brock didn’t have the good sense to back down in the face of a furious James Barnes. Steve squinted up at them both, and was certain that he would put his money on Barnes in this one. The man got right up in Brock’s face and growled something that Steve didn’t quite hear through the blood rushing in his ears. His face  _ hurt _ . 

Brock blanched before gritting his teeth and saying, “I’d be more careful who you threaten, Barnes. You never know what might happen.” He gestured to his two ‘friends’ and they all climbed into a dark SUV, leaving with a screech of tires. Barnes watched them go, muttering something that Steve was fairly certain was Russian under his breath, before swinging his attention back to where Steve was still sitting on the sidewalk like a lump.

“Who the hell are you?” Barnes made no move to help him up, so Steve staggered to his feet, wincing as he felt blood starting to run from his split eyebrow. Wanda must have been watching through the window because she came out just then with a well-stocked first aid kit. This must not have been the first time she’d seen something like this happen. 

“He got that creep to leave me alone, that’s who he is.” She put her hand on Steve’s face and he hissed in pain, but held still. “James Barnes, this is Steve Grant. Steve Grant, this asshole is my boss, James Barnes.” She glared at Barnes, who shrugged and walked back into the shop. Wanda gave Steve an apologetic look. “Sorry about him.”

“It’s okay.” He allowed her to lead him back into the shop and push him into a chair so that she could patch up his face. Barton and Romanov must have expected Barnes to handle what was going on because, as far as he could tell, they hadn’t moved. Barnes had gone back to the office and Steve could see him standing there, arms crossed. Wanda was keeping up a steady stream of apologies as she swabbed the cuts on his face with antiseptic and put on steri-strips. He heard the office door slam and Wanda rolled her eyes, sighing in frustration. She put on the last strip.

She turned and stood almost like she was protecting Steve when Barnes stormed out of the office and into the front reception area face tight with anger. Steve took an involuntary step back, but Wanda stood her ground. “Bucky-”

“No.” Barnes (Bucky?) tried to get around her, but Wanda put her hands on her hips and stared him down. He stopped trying with a huff and glared at Steve over her head. “You had no right to do that.”

Steve blinked in surprise at the hostility. “I was just-”

Barnes cut him off with an angry slash of his gloved hand. “We take care of our own.” He looked at Wanda. “Get rid of him.” Steve couldn’t help but notice how his grey eyes flashed with anger, and how James Barnes would have been very good looking if he didn’t look like he wanted to punch him. Still, it would probably be best to avoid any more punching for the day, no matter how attractive the person doing the punching was.

“If my car is done, I’ll-”

“No.” Wanda, to his amusement, stuck her tongue out at Barnes’ retreating back before gesturing for him to sit again. “You wait here. I’ll check on your car.” Steve did as he was told. He looked down and sighed; He’d liked this t-shirt, too. He must have looked a little forlorn because Wanda patted him on the shoulder when she came back. “Sorry about your shirt.”

“It’s fine.” It wasn’t fine. His face hurt, his ribs hurt, and Sam was going to kill him in when they met for debriefing. 

“After all that, your car’s not going to be ready for another day or so. They had to order a part.” Wanda looked so apologetic that Steve felt bad for breaking Sam’s car a little too well. “It’s all on the house, of course. Call it a thank you.” 

“Oh god, you don’t have to do that.” Steve didn’t want her to get in trouble on his account, and Barnes didn’t seem like the type to let things like that slide. “Your boss probably won’t be too happy-”

“Pfft. Him?” Wanda blew out a breath and glared at the back office. Steve could just make out Barnes watching them with a stormy expression through the window. She gave him a little wave and he turned away. It was almost funny. “He’s, how do you say, all bark and no bite.” Steve lifted an eyebrow at her and she laughed. “Well, maybe a little bite.”

“Why’d he get so mad anyway?” It was the perfect opening to dig a little deeper into what was going on. Steve was here to work, after all. He just needed to remember to actually  _ work _ . Information gathering, he could do that.

Wanda’s mouth set in a hard line. “Brock Rumlow is an asshole.” Steve didn’t laugh. It wasn’t funny. The way she said that name spoke volumes to him. It definitely wasn’t the first time that she’d had to deal with him. “He used to be some big shot contractor with this security company called Hydra or something like that over in-” She stopped and glanced at where Barnes was now studiously avoiding them and Steve wondered if she had just realized that she’d said too much. She swallowed and turned back to him. “Anyway. He thinks he’s owed something. Whatever. He’s a jerk and a creeper and I really appreciate what you did.” She gave him a small smile. “Even if some people here don’t show it very well, they do too.” 

“Yeah, I don’t think so.” Steve decided to change the subject. “So you’ll give me a call when it’s ready?”

Wanda jerked, suddenly realizing that she had neglected to get any information from him. She jumped up and grabbed a clipboard from the desk and started filling it out. Steve rattled off his own cell number and address for lack of a better plan. Sam wouldn’t be happy about that either, but what he didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him. He was going to have enough to yell at him about so maybe that would slide under the radar. Probably not, but he could hope.

He refused Wanda’s offer of a ride, telling her that he was only a few blocks away anyway. She looked like she wanted to give him a hug but didn’t and allowed him to leave with a promise to call him as soon as the car was ready. Steve glanced back at the office but the blinds had been closed, and he didn’t get another look at Barnes. He did feel eyes on him and saw Romanov leaning one hip against the fender of Sam’s car with an unreadable expression. He had a brief moment of panic thinking that she knew but he swallowed it down, nodding at her instead. She stared at him for another moment and then turned back to the car. It was unsettling as hell. 

Steve told Wanda goodbye again and headed toward his apartment, texting Sam to tell him about the change of plans. They had been planning to meet up at Sam’s place, but now Steve really, really needed a change of shirt. Plus all of his ice packs were there.

\--

The dumbfounded look on Sam’s face was almost worth the pain. Almost. Steve walked to the kitchen after letting him in, Sam trailing behind him, and grabbed an ice pack for his face. Then went back and got another one for his ribs before settling on the couch. He wanted to be comfortable before all the shouting started.

“What the hell happened?” Sam held up a hand before Steve could start to explain and Steve leaned back into the couch cushions with a sigh. “Wait. Don’t tell me. Kitten up a tree? Rushing into a burning building? Damsel in distress?”

“Closer to that last one.” Steve’s mouth snapped shut at the look Sam shot him. He made a zipping motion in front of his lips and got a glare for it before Sam started to pace.

“I swear to god you are a walking disaster. I don’t know why I thought it would be a good idea to-” Sam shook his head. “No, I know why I thought it was a good idea, why it is a good idea. But you have got to embrace the whole concept,” he made a big encompassing gesture with his hands, “of the idea of  _ undercover _ . And the fact that these are not nice people.”

Steve waited to see if the rant was truly over before trying to speak. “Can I talk now?” Sam flopped down onto the couch next to him and sighed. “I’ll take that as a yes.” Steve shifted the ice pack on his ribs and took the one off his face so that he could turn to look at Sam. “Look, it’s not like I went there looking for a fight.” He resisted the urge to smack Sam with a throw pillow at his huff of disbelief. “It just kind of happened.”

“It always just kind of happens.” 

Steve rolled his eyes even though he couldn’t really argue with him. “Anyway, I was able to check out the garage a little bit. It looked normal to me, but something weird happened while I was there.”

“Does this something weird explain your black eye? And whatever you did to your ribs? Don’t think I didn’t notice the ribs, Rogers.”

“Yes. Now shut up and let me explain.” Steve told him about the run in with Brock Rumlow and Barnes’s reaction. About Wanda and how she acted like she shouldn’t have told him anything about Hydra. Sam looked thoughtful.

“Hydra. I’ve heard that somewhere before. Not anything to do with this case, but if it’s a security company like she said, then it might be related.” Sam opened Steve’s laptop where it still sat on his coffee table from the night before. “Yep. Military contracts. Did she say anything else?”

Steve thought for a moment. “She said that Rumlow thought he was owed something. I don’t know if that has to do with anything or not.”

Sam scrolled through the files a little bit more and nodded. “I’ll send this all of to Fury and see what they come up with. Anything else to add?” Steve shook his head and then winced when Sam gave him a wide-eyed look. “Steve Rogers, where the hell is my car?”

\--

Fury was even less forgiving than Sam when he saw Steve’s face. “What part of covert operation do you not understand?” Steve found himself unconsciously standing at attention in a way that he hadn’t since the Academy. 

“It would have stood out more if I had let it happen. Sir.” Steve wasn’t going to back down. They could take him off the investigation if they felt like they needed to, but he hoped they didn’t. There was something about the people in this garage that he couldn’t put his finger on. James Barnes especially. Sam, loyal friend that he was, was quick to jump to Steve’s defense.

“Director, if I may, Rogers did the right thing.” Fury’s ire was now directed in Sam’s direction and Steve saw him flinch out of the corner of his eye but he squared his shoulders and stood firm. 

“Explain.”

Sam cleared his throat. “Barnes, Romanov and Barton, as far as we can tell, are a close knit bunch. It will be difficult to get someone close enough to observe anything in that garage much less infiltrate and win their trust.” Steve blinked at the word ‘trust’ but didn’t say anything to deny what Sam was saying. “If Rogers hadn’t stepped in when he did, I guarantee that they would never let him in. The Maximoff girl is the in that we need.” Steve fidgeted and Sam was quick to add, “Though I’m sure Rogers would have conducted himself the same way whether he was undercover or not.”

The corner of Director Fury’s mouth lifted in what might have been a smile when it grew up, but his stern, steel-eyed gaze was back in a blink. “Be that as it may, this sort of thing cannot happen again. Do you understand me, Rogers?”

Steve’s jaw clenched but he answered in the affirmative. “Yes, sir. I understand. Won’t happen again.” Director Fury gave them both another glare and then stalked off. They looked at each other and giggled like little kids that just escaped the wrath of the principal. When they calmed down, Sam put his serious face back on.

“So, what’s the next play?”

Steve looked at his phone and held it up so that Sam could see the screen. Wanda had sent him a text telling him that the part had come in and he could come and pick up the car the next day. He rolled his eyes at Sam’s incredulous look and shook his head.  “I know, I  _ know _ . I panicked. But, look at it this way. If they’re as tightly close-knit as you think then when they run that number, it won’t lead them to the FBI.”

“You’re an idiot. But you’re my idiot so I’ll fix this for you.” Sam parked himself at a free computer and brought up the identity for Steven Grant, adding the phone number to it with a few keystrokes. “There. Now they’ll only pull up Steven Grant. Dumbass and righter of wrongs.”

“Gee, thanks Sam. What would I do without you?”

“Who knows? Probably get hit by a bus or something.”

“Probably. Oh and I want my car back.”

“Two days, Rogers. You promised me two days. I’ll trade it as soon as you rescue my poor baby.”

“I hope they put racing stripes on that piece of shit.”

“Hey!”


	3. Chapter 3

CHAPTER 3

When Steve returned to the garage to pick up Sam’s car, Barton was manning the front desk. He was in what seemed to be the default position of leaning back in the chair with his boots on the desk, but he was entertaining himself by throwing little balls of wadded up paper into the wastebasket across the room. Steve watched him for a few moments before walking in, bell jingling on the door. 

Barton nodded at him. “Hey man, you here to pick up?”

“Yeah, Wanda texted and said it was ready.”

Barton sat up, throwing one final ball of paper into the wastebasket before opening the metal lock box full of car keys. “Um.” He looked lost, and Steve found it strangely charming. “Can you give me a clue here?”

Steve laughed and pointed at the keys that had a large silver bird hanging from them. He’d bought it for Sam as a joke one year after he got hooked on some nature documentaries and Sam had used it ever since. Barton grabbed the keys and then looked up at Steve, eyes narrowed. “You’re the guy.”

“The guy?” 

“Yeah. The guy.” Barton got up and headed toward the back. “Hang on a minute.”

Steve stood awkwardly in front of the small desk for a few seconds before realizing that he should take the opportunity to look around a bit more. He paced a few steps, hoping that he looked like a man waiting, and took a look at the computer screen. He could see a security feed running, a fairly sophisticated one from the looks of it, and he could see Barton walking across the lot to the other garage in the back. The feed picked him up again when he walked through the door, and Steve could see him talking to Wanda and Romanov. Wanda gave Barton a big smile and jumped up from her lunch, disappearing from view and then reappearing on the lot camera. 

Instinct and training gave him the itching sensation of being watched. Barnes was in the back office again, making no pretence of doing anything but keeping his eye on Steve. Steve held the man’s eyes, refusing to back down. It was a test of wills; he was stubborn, but so was Barnes apparently. Steve gave him a small smile and got a scowl in return. Steve finally conceded and looked away, watching out of the corner of his eye as Barnes turned his attention back to whatever paperwork he was doing.

“Steve!” He turned to Wanda and smiled as she greeted him. Her face fell as she saw the bruises. “My god, your poor face. I didn’t realize it was that bad.” She reached up like she wanted to touch it for herself and stopped. She must be a naturally tactile person, he thought, it was the second time she’d done something like that. 

“It’s fine. Always looks worse a day or two after.” He stuffed his hands in his pockets and he knew he was giving her what Sam called his ‘Aw shucks ma’am’ look, but he didn’t want her to feel bad about the bruises. She seemed like a sweet kid. 

She laughed. “You sound like you have plenty of experience with that.” She smiled when Steve shrugged and nodded toward the back. “Let’s go and get your car.” He started to get his wallet out of his pocket and she gave him a stern look. “On the house, remember? Come on.”

He followed her out a side door toward the lot behind the main garage. There was another building back here that was obviously used for personal vehicles and storage. Steve whistled to himself as he saw what had to be a 1970 Hemi-cuda. He could tell from the grill. The hood was up and Pietro and Romanov were leaning into it, deep in conversation. “Look at that.”

“Nice, right?” Wanda looked on with pride at the car. “That’s Natasha’s. She finally let Pietro work on it to get it ready for tomorrow.” 

“What’s tomorrow?”

“Race day. Strip about two hours away.” He was still checking out the car and she nudged his arm companionably. “You should check it out. You like cars?”

“You could say that.” It was a disappointment when they walked up to Sam’s car and he had no other excuse to hang around. “Actually, that sounds like a lot of fun. Would you mind texting me the details?”

“Sure. Maybe we’ll see you there.” She gave him a shy smile and he wondered if he’d played it up too much, came off too flirty. “Bye, Steve.” 

He definitely needed to dial it back. 

\--

“You want to what?” Sam caught the keys to the Honda and tossed Steve’s Challenger keys right back at him as he walked into Steve’s apartment. Technically, they were supposed to be doing all of their ‘official’ plotting and planning at Sam’s, but Steve had a sneaking suspicion that they were being observed there. Maybe he was just as paranoid as the marks. 

“I want to go and check out the race.” Steve rocked the desk chair back on two legs and stared up at the ceiling. The investigation materials had graduated from the couch and coffee table to the larger desk in the corner of his living room and he wasn’t sure how he felt about that. After his visit to the garage and his genuine response to the place, he wondered if he was the right person for this job after all. Still, going to the race made sense. “You know I need to get closer. It’ll earn their trust.”

“You’ll be on your own.” Sam grabbed two beers from the fridge, handing one to Steve as he flopped down on the couch. 

Steve shrugged, the chair coming down with a thump. “Nothing I’m not already used to.” Sam made a sound of displeasure around his beer and Steve shook his head. “That’s not what I’m talking about. I mean, I’ve been to stuff like this on my own before. There’ll be a ton of people there, so there’s no way they’d dare do anything.”

“Maybe.” Sam relaxed a little bit and grinned. “So, what’s Barnes like?”

Steve chuckled. “Grumpy all the time from what I can tell. Intimidating. Bigger than you’d think.” He picked at the edge of the label on the bottle. “Nice eyes.”

Sam put his beer on the table and looked Steve in the eye. “Oh my god.”

“What?” Steve paused with his beer almost up to his mouth.

Sam snickered and ran a hand over his face. “Oh my god, Rogers. You think he’s hot.”

Steve almost choked on the drink he’d just taken. “What? Sam, no! I-” He stopped, considering. “Screw it. Between you and me, yes, I think he’s sex on legs. Happy?”

“Not really.” Sam sobered for a moment. “It’s not going to be a problem, is it? You’re not compromised because you’re attracted to the suspect?”

Steve rolled his eyes. “Sam. If working with attractive people made it so I couldn’t do my job, I’d never get anything done.”

“What do you mean?”

Steve grinned and looked him up and down. “I work with you, don’t I?”

Sam’s mouth dropped open and then he threw his head back and laughed. “Well, I am a specimen and you manage to keep it together around me so I’ll give you a pass this time.” He took another drink from his beer. “What else do we know?”

“They used Dodge Chargers for the heists. Police spec or similar. More horsepower, better handling, the works.” Steve watched Sam trying to work out how he knew the make and model before letting him in on the secret. “It was the tail lights. When they hit the trucks, they did it with the headlights off for stealth, but no one usually does anything to the brake lights.”

“You can tell what kind of car from the brake lights?” Sam was giving him skeptical face and Steve raised an eyebrow.

“What? Like it’s hard?” 

“Did you just  _ Legally Blonde  _ me?”

“Maybe.” Steve grabbed some of the pictures that he’d printed off. “I marked these up so you can turn them in to Fury.” He hesitated. “Can you get me more about Barnes, Romanov and Barton? Specifically their military history.”

“I don’t know if I can do that.” Sam held up a hand before Steve could ask why. “From what I can tell, whatever they were doing there was way above my paygrade. And will stay that way unless we, and I mean you, find something that ties them directly to the hits on the trucks.”   

“Fine. I’m working on it.” Steve shook his head. “What did you find out about Rumlow and Hydra?”

“That I was able to get intel on. Maximoff was right. Brock Rumlow used to work for Hydra back in the day as head of one of their security teams. They rode out with some of the military ops when they needed the extra talent.” Sam passed over a folder that contained a picture of Rumlow in black tactical gear, an odd octopus looking logo on his chest.

“So he doesn’t work for Hydra anymore?” 

“Not as far as we can tell. He’s been stateside for a little bit less than a year, no reason given why he left.” Sam pointed at Steve’s face. “He seems like a loose cannon, I’d try to keep your face away from him if you can manage it.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” Steve said dryly. “So the plan is, I’ll go to the race tomorrow and I’ll check in with you every four hours.”

“Every two.”

“Three and that’s my final offer.” Steve knew he’d won when Sam threw his hands in the air. 

“Fine. You realize you have no sense of self-preservation, right?”

“Funny, not the first time I’ve heard that.”

\--

Steve knelt down to wipe the road dust off a wheel. He stood and stepped back, pleased with the shine of the black wheels in contrast to the white car. He loved that car and wanted it to look good. Races were always half race and half car show, so he’d made it shine. He’d bought it when he made detective and the first thing he did was take his mom for a ride in it. She’d teased him about it not being a Mustang, and he’d put his foot down on the gas just to listen to her whoop with delight as she was pressed back into the seat. He blinked back to the present, turning when he heard a low whistle behind him.

“2014 Challenger. That is definitely not a Honda.” It was Barton. Steve offered him a hand and they shook. “Clint Barton.”

“Steve Grant, otherwise known as The Guy.” Steve had practiced his undercover name in the car on the drive to the track so that it was second nature. He couldn’t afford any screw ups. “Want a look under the hood?”

Clint looked him up and down with a grin. “The car, right?” Steve snorted and reached inside to pop the hood. Clint propped it up and stood back with his hands on his hips. “Nice. You work on this yourself?”

“Some of it.” Steve rubbed the back of his neck and ducked his head. He was proud of the car, but he never liked to brag. “A lot of it came stock.”

“What the hell were you doing with a Honda?” 

Steve closed the hood and leaned against the car, Clint joining him. “The Honda was a friend’s. He asked if I could bring it in. I make my own schedule so I had the time.”

“A friend’s?”

Steve was beginning to think that Clint was hitting on him. “Just a friend.”

“Good to know.” Clint laughed, raising his hands at Steve’s expression. “Oh god, not for me. Not that you aren’t a prime example of a fine manly man, but I’m taken and she is way scarier than both of us put together.”

“Thanks. I think.” Steve kind of liked Clint. He was a little odd, but it was a good kind of odd. 

“Anytime.” Clint looked at his phone and nodded toward the track. “Nat’s race is coming up, want to come sit with us?”

“Sure. Who’s us?” Steve locked the car with a beep and followed Clint across the pavement.

“Me, Nat, of course, Wanda, Pietro, you met him, I think.” He turned around and walked backward for a few steps. “Oh, and Bucky. You know, the guy that yelled at you?”

“I remember. He also saved me from it being way worse than it already was.” Steve self-consciously touched his face, pressing his fingers against the soreness around his eye. Clint had already turned back around and Steve hurried to catch up. “Was he really that mad? I mean, I couldn’t just-”

“Eh. Don’t worry about him.” Clint was walking so closely that their shoulders bumped and he lowered his voice. “It wasn’t you. He just, he just has a hard time warming up to people. Plus, Rumlow pisses him the hell off in general so that didn’t help things at all.” They’d reached the large concrete bleachers that lined the quarter mile track. “This is us.”

Steve nodded and climbed up the stairs behind Clint. Wanda was waving at him and even Pietro had a smile on his face. They seemed genuinely excited to see him, which made a twinge of guilt run through him. He needed to keep his distance while simultaneously gaining their trust so that he could find out what was going on behind the scenes in the garage. And if it had any tie to the heists. And if the heists had any tie to Hydra. It honestly made his head hurt just a little bit when he looked at the big picture. Time to focus on the details.

Like Clint, for example. He struck Steve as very friendly, but he moved like someone that was well aware of what was going on around him, very conscious of his environment.  _ Like a soldier _ , Steve thought. If the bits and pieces that he’d been told were accurate, they had all been soldiers, which meant they might still work as a unit. Just like the two cars, working in tandem to take down that truck. Steve pushed all of that down because they had climbed their way up to where the twins were sitting.

“Steve, you came!” Wanda didn’t hesitate this time and gave him a hug. “Come sit. It’s almost time for Nat’s race.”

Steve looked at Clint who gave him a wide grin. “You might as well do as she says. I’m going to go down and check in with Nat and Bucky really quick. I’ll be right back.” He started to go back down before trotting back over to them. “Tell Pietro about your car. Trust me.” Clint winked and then walked away again.

Pietro turned to him. “What car?” Steve smiled.

\--

By the time Clint and Barnes (could he really call him Bucky?) made their way back to the group, cars were lined up on the track. Steve could see Natasha’s Hemi-cuda farther down the line. It would be a few minutes before it was her turn. Steve was watching, tuning out Pietro’s rambling about some new exhaust system, so he saw the moment Barnes realized that he was there. His eyes narrowed and he gave a Clint a look that would have made anyone else flinch. Clint just shrugged it off, leaning in to say something to Barnes that made him look a little bit less murderous. 

Steve stood when they got to him, determined to make a better impression. Clint clapped him on the shoulder. “I’m going to go and stand by the fence and make sure that Nat doesn’t need anything.” Bucky nodded at him and turned to Steve. He stuck out a hand and Steve looked at it in shock. He hesitated too long because Bucky started to put it down, his face carefully blank. Steve took it and they shook.

“Sorry about the other day.” Bucky’s hand was calloused and rough, obviously belonging to someone that worked with his hands. “That was a good thing you did for Wanda.”

Steve blinked in surprise. He hadn’t expected Bucky to say anything, much less apologize. “Don’t worry about it.” He sat back down and Bucky sat next to him, leaning back with his elbows on the bleacher behind them. The sun was shining but he was still wearing a long sleeved henley and a glove on his left hand. It was odd, but Steve only made a mental note before he wrote it off and decided to enjoy the view. It was a very nice view, with Bucky laid back like that beside him. Steve wondered about Bucky’s change of heart but wasn’t going to push it. 

\--

They sat in silence for the most part, with Wanda and Pietro chiming in now and then to try and draw them into conversation. Bucky was quiet but he seemed perfectly content to share the space with Steve. 

Clint had come back, and they were having a debate over something to do with Natasha’s car as she edged up the lineup waiting to race. Clint involved Steve in the conversation and before long they were actually talking to each other. Steve was having a hard time getting a read on Bucky. He couldn’t tell if the man was just being polite because he felt bad about the other day or if he honestly didn’t mind Steve being there. The first time Steve got him to smile, it felt like some sort of weird victory. Like it wasn’t something that he gave away freely to anyone but his close friends.

Steve started to relax after that, falling into a comfortable silence while they waiting for Natasha’s turn in the lineup. Steve watched as the black Hemi-cuda edged its way up closer to the starting area and took a better look at it. He could see where it bore the logo for the garage, a red star with silver letters reading ‘Barnes Garage’ wrapped around it. 

“Do you race as a team?” Bucky looked at him and then back to the track. “I mean, I saw the logo on Natasha’s car and was just wondering.”

“Sometimes.” Bucky’s voice was low and he leaned a little closer to be heard over the noise of the crowd and the cars revving engines on the pavement. “Clint has a Roadrunner that he’ll take out every now and then.”

“What about you?” The corner of Bucky’s mouth twitched into what was almost a smile at that.

“Sometimes.” Bucky leaned forward, eyes on Natasha’s car as it crept forward. “Not for a while now, though. Too busy.”

Steve didn’t know what else to say that wouldn’t sound like he was fishing for information so he sat back to watch. It was a good day. He turned his face up to the sun and closed his eyes, letting the sounds and smells of the track wash over him for a few minutes. He felt a tap on his knee and opened his eyes to Bucky giving him a hesitant smile. “If you’re done napping, it’s almost Nat’s turn.”

“Wasn’t napping. Just closed my eyes for a second.” Steve returned his smile and leaned forward, elbows on his knees. Bucky did the same and their knees bumped together. Steve didn’t move away and neither did Bucky for a long moment before he shifted, putting a little distance between them. Steve tried not to read too much into it, but lost that train of thought because Bucky and Clint were on their feet as Natasha’s car rolled up to the starting line.

The engines revved as the cars lined up and Steve stood as the amber lights on the Christmas tree started to light up. One. Two. Three. Go.

Smoke boiled up from the back tires as the rubber bit into the track, shooting both cars forward with a screech. Steve found himself muttering “Come on. Come on.” under his breath and caught the glance Bucky shot him from the corner of his eye. He wanted Natasha to do well. He didn’t have to worry because a second later she pulled ahead, and ended up beating her opponent by several yards. He whooped along with Clint, Wanda and Pietro as Bucky clapped, a wide grin on his face. He looked younger when he smiled, closer to the first photo that Steve had seen of him. It was...nice.

Clint clapped Steve on the back and Wanda gave him a hug. As did Pietro, surprisingly. Steve felt like he was part of their celebration and wasn’t sure why. He didn’t want to examine that too closely just yet. They were gathering their things, getting ready to go and meet Natasha at the holding area, when Clint stopped Steve before he could climb down from the stands. “You should come by sometime. After hours, I mean, and hang out. Bring that car and let Pietro get his hands on it.”

Steve was surprised by the offer but nodded. “Sure. Sounds fun.” Bucky was watching their exchange with an unreadable expression. What did he think about Clint’s invitation? Steve guessed he’d just have to find out. “Wanda’s got my number, just let me know when.”

They climbed down the bleachers and went their separate ways, Wanda waving at Steve with a sunny grin. He waved back and headed toward the parking lot, hands stuffed in his pockets. He knew that Sam was waiting to hear from him but he felt weird about reporting about their day at the track. It hadn’t felt like work, it had felt like hanging out with friends. 

He’d liked talking to Bucky especially. Maybe Sam was right. Steve would never actually tell him that in a million years but it was something to consider. There was so much potential for him to get too close that he had to take a more careful look at how he felt about the whole thing. 

He’d check in with Sam and sleep on it. He could always decide in the morning.


	4. Chapter 4

CHAPTER 4

Steve’s phone rang at 5am, and he knew immediately that it couldn’t be good news. Sam’s voice was strained which meant he’d probably been up half the night. “There’s been another one.”

“When?” Steve sat up, the blankets pooling around him.

“Middle of the night. The driver fought back. He’s fine but he got a piece of one of the perps.” Steve grimaced. They were escalating. 

“How so?” Steve stood and stretched, already regretting missing his morning run. He’d been no closer to a decision about sticking with the Barnes crew last night when he went to bed and he still didn’t know what to do now. He had been hoping that a run would help clear his head. “You know what? Nevermind. Come on over, you need breakfast and coffee.”

“You are my favorite person right now. Seriously.” Sam’s relief was evident, even over the phone. “Be there in twenty?”

“Sounds good.” Steve hung up and went to the kitchen to start the coffee before getting in the shower. 

\--

Sam looked as exhausted as he had sounded on the phone. He was holding on to his coffee mug like a lifeline where he was slumped on the sofa. Steve plugged in the flash drive that contained the images from the night before. The truck had the same cameras as the other one, and Steve was able to follow the progress of the black Chargers as they made their move. 

The same man from before, or at least he appeared the same, climbed through the sunroof and made his way onto the side of the truck. This time, when he punched through the window and unlocked the door, the driver was ready with a knife. The drivers had been specifically told not to use firearms because the risk was too high, but knives had never been expressly forbidden. The Charger on the right side peeled off as the truck swerved when the driver struck out at the man, slashing the sleeve of the heavy leather jacket that he wore. The driver tried again, catching the left arm again before the man grabbed the knife away from him, flinging it out of the shattered window. 

After that, it was all the same routine, down to the destruction of the camera. Steve watched through the video three times before he figured out what was bothering him. When the leather of the man’s sleeve parted, he could see a flash of silver. He leaned closer to the screen, pausing the video. What was that?

“Sam?” He looked over at the couch to see Sam sound asleep, with his head flung back and feet up on the coffee table. Steve shook his head and walked over to take the half empty coffee mug out of his slack hand. He set it on the desk next to his computer and studied the image on the screen. It looked like it was some sort of body armor. He ran the video again and the man didn’t appear to be bleeding, so it had to be something strong enough to stop a knife that sliced through leather like it was butter.

“ _ Who are you _ ?” 

\--

Steve had forgotten about Clint’s invitation to stop by the garage until he got a text from Wanda asking if he was coming by. He sent her a text to say that he’d be there, and then shot off a text to Sam to let him know what was happening. Sam sent him a text right back to remind him of the check in agreement. Steve answered with an eyeroll emoji, which Sam countered with a picture of his ‘don’t fuck with me, Steve’ face.

Steve arrived at the garage after closing. The front office was dark, but Wanda had told him to pull around the back into the lot separating the business from the personal space. There were lights on in the building in the back, so Steve locked up his car and headed that way. He could hear the faint sounds of music, and followed it to find all of the crew hanging out in the garage. There were two cars with covers tightly in place, next to a beautiful silver Chevelle SS. It had the same logo just in front of the driver’s side door that had been on Natasha’s car. 

He walked over to where Natasha and Wanda sat on an old sofa, drinks in hand, as they heckled Clint and Pietro, who were playing some sort of game that involved tossing what looked like large round washers into a box from several yards away. Wanda gave him a smile while Natasha looked at him over her drink, her eyes accessing and sharp.

“Hi. Um-” He looked around but didn’t see Bucky anywhere. He wasn’t sure why having Bucky there would have made him feel more comfortable, but he found that he was disappointed in his absence. Wanda took pity on his awkwardness and pointed him toward the cooler on the other side of the sitting area. 

“Grab a drink and come sit with us.” Steve grabbed a beer out of the cooler and sat in the chair that made up the rest of the sitting area. “Bucky had to run out for something, but he’ll be back soon.” Steve took a long pull from his beer but didn’t miss the look Natasha gave him.  _ What was that all about? _

“Sounds good.” He looked past where Clint and Pietro’s ‘game’ had devolved into them trying to hit each other with the metal washers. “Whose car is that?” He nodded toward the Chevelle, and noted that Wanda and Natasha exchanged a glance. They had a silent conversation that Steve couldn’t possibly understand. Finally, Natasha shrugged and looked at him.

“It’s Bucky’s. He usually keeps it covered.” She gave him a tight smile. “Especially around people he doesn’t know.” Steve took that to mean that it was an off limits topic of conversation. 

“I’ll keep that in mind.” He itched to take a closer look at the car, but he’d keep his distance. “Exactly  _ what _ are they doing?” Steve tipped his beer bottle at Clint and Pietro who were now back to trying to throw the metal discs into the low wooden boxes.

“It’s called ‘Washer Toss’ and it’s exactly what it sounds like.” Wanda told him as Natasha rolled her eyes. “Another customer told Pietro about it and they had to give a try.”

“It’s like horseshoes for idiots.” Natasha’s dry comment drew a laugh from Steve, and he was pleased to get a small smile from her. She was going to be a tough one to fool, maybe even tougher than Barnes. He was going to have to be careful, because even if all of them weren’t involved in the heists, he could only imagine how well they would take to betrayal in their midst. Wanda got up to referee before they started throwing them at each other again, and he used the opportunity to feel out Natasha. 

“Can I ask you a question?” She gave him that long assessing stare again before nodding to give permission. He moved over to the couch so that he didn’t have to speak as loudly. “Is it okay that I’m here?” Her eyebrows rose and he continued before she could speak. “I mean, I get the feeling that Bucky doesn’t really like new people in his space.”

She didn’t smile at him, but he got a feeling of approval from her. “I think you need to ask him that yourself.” A door banged open and they all briefly turned to look as Bucky came in, before going back to what they were doing. All of them except Natasha and Steve. Bucky was staring at where Steve and Natasha were sitting on the couch, and it was hard to tell who he was staring at until he met Steve’s eyes. To Steve’s surprise, he got a small smile before Bucky moved off to put the box he was carrying on the table. Steve turned back to Natasha when he heard her low voice. “Maybe you don’t need to ask him after all.” She rose and patted Steve on the shoulder before going over to where Bucky was unpacking what looked like takeout.

This was awkward. Now it was like he was interrupting their dinner. “Um, I’ll just. Go.” 

He was surprised when it was Bucky that asked him to stay. “There’s plenty. Besides, Wanda will give me shit if I let you leave.” 

“I really will.” Wanda piped up from where she had already claimed some food and was picking through it with her chopsticks. “So you’re doing him a favor if you stay.” Bucky gave her a narrow-eyed look that she shrugged at, and Steve could have sworn that Bucky’s ears were turning red. Huh. Maybe.

“Well, if it’ll help you out.” Steve gave him a grin just to see what he would do. He got that small smile again, and Steve briefly wondered what would have happened if they’d met any other way. It was dangerous to think that way. His phone pinged and he turned away to check it.

**Check in?**

Steve glanced at the time and realized that he’d missed his one hour check in. How had that happened? It was like Sam’s ‘Steve’s doing something dumb’ senses were tingling.

**Okay. Back in 2.**

He had two hours before checking in again. He needed to make them count.

\--

Steve snagged some noodles for himself and a fresh beer before making his way back over to the couch to sit and eat, a little bit away from where everyone else was gathered around the table. He found his eyes drawn back to Bucky’s car. He’d always loved Chevelles and this one was immaculate. It was understated and perfect, classic silver with black racing stripes on the hood. He was wondering what it had under the hood when the couch dipped under the weight of another person. He looked up, expecting Wanda’s bright smile or Natasha’s suspicious look, and was startled and strangely pleased to see it was Bucky with his own dinner in his hands.

“You were smart to get in and get out and leave the rest of the food to the wolves.” Bucky nodded at Steve’s noodles and dug into his own carton of fried rice. Steve nodded, not sure what to say, and concentrated on  _ not  _ looking at the car. Natasha’s warning made it almost impossible not to, but he didn’t want to offend Bucky when he was obviously making an effort to be nice. Plus, there was plenty to look at right there on the couch. 

Bucky was dressed pretty much the same as at the race, right down to the long sleeved henley and black leather glove on his left hand. Steve wondered if he had injured it somehow, maybe while in the military, and now he was hiding scars from view. Bucky was focused on his fried rice and Steve couldn’t help but notice the way the fabric clung to his biceps and chest. He was powerfully built in the way that came from working on heavy machinery and with his hands.  Steve realized that he was staring when Bucky looked at him and he jerked his attention back to the Chevelle, panicked, and then looked back at Bucky. 

Bucky’s smile turned into a smirk and Steve felt his face heat. He must have decided to take pity on Steve because he nodded toward the car and said, “That’s what I drive.”

“Oh.”  _ Real smooth, Rogers _ . “I mean, do you mean race or-” Steve didn’t even know what he meant but Bucky picked up what he was trying to say.

“I don’t do the official stuff like Nat does.” He pointed over at where the ‘cuda was parked, the hood up and waiting for attention. “She’s kind of the face of the garage at the track.” He nodded toward the other end of the lot at a bright purple Roadrunner that almost made Steve’s eyes hurt to look at. “That’s Clint’s car.” Bucky noticed Steve’s wince and laughed. “Yeah, it’s godawful, isn’t it?”

“I wasn’t going to say anything. I mean, it’s a nice car, but…”

“I know, right? I tried to talk him out of it, but...” Bucky shrugged and scooped up some more rice.

“So he doesn’t race?” Bucky shook his head as he chewed and Steve continued, digging through his noodles for another piece of chicken. “So, Natasha races at the track, Clint has horrible taste in paint color, but excellent taste in cars,” Bucky snorted at that and Steve kept on, encouraged, “you don’t do ‘official stuff.’” He made finger quotes the best he could and Bucky snickered at him. “So where do Wanda and Pietro fit in?”

“Strays.” Bucky shrugged. “Their parents were pretty shitty and kicked them out as soon as they turned eighteen. Natasha knew them through some friends, and that was that. Put them to work and they share the crappy apartment upstairs.” He jerked his head at the ceiling. “Turns out Wanda is a lifesaver when it comes to dealing with customers and paperwork, and Pietro is a super fast learner. He probably knows more about newer cars than I do at this point.”

“Wow.” Steve didn’t know how to respond to this. He came into this assignment thinking that has infiltrating a group of thieves but he’d found a self-made family instead. “Not everyone would do that.”

Bucky shrugged again. “It was nothing. I know what it’s like to not have anyone in your corner.” He put his carton down on the table. “Anyway, do you race? I mean, that thing,” he looked through the big roll up doors at Steve’s Challenger, “is mostly stock, right? What can you do with that?” His lips twitched like he was trying not to smile and Steve glared at him, feeling more at ease. 

“Why don’t you pop the hood and find out?” Steve didn’t exactly mean that to come out quite so flirty but Bucky’s raised eyebrows were worth it. “I mean, just to check.”

“Maybe I will. You know, just to make sure.” Bucky was flirting right back to Steve’s amazement. They were leaning closer together somehow and Steve made himself pull back. He shouldn’t be doing that. He was here for a purpose and that didn’t include flirting with an incredibly hot suspect. It must have shown in his face because Bucky’s face fell a little bit, unsure.  _ Shit _ . 

Steve put his own carton down and stood, digging his keys out of his pocket. “Want to take a look?” 

\--

Inviting Bucky to take a look at his car turned into Pietro joining in, and then Clint and Natasha wandering over to take a peek. The car wasn’t really drag race worthy, in Steve’s opinion, but it was fast. The Mustang, on the other hand, would be well matched to any of the cars that he’d seen the other day. 

Wanda stood next to Steve and watched them all. “They’re ridiculous, aren’t they.”

Steve laughed. “Maybe a little, but it’s my kind of ridiculous. It’s nice to be around people that like cars as much as I do.”

Pietro, Clint and Natasha had their heads together, pointing out something and having a heated discussion over whatever it was, while Bucky stood on the other side, leaning on the car and taking it in. Steve had the feeling that he was observing and taking it in as a whole before pulling it apart. It made him wonder what it would be like to be taken apart like that and he had to stomp down hard on that thought. He couldn’t. 

He liked them. He liked all of them. He didn’t want them to be a part of what he was investigating but the two closely covered vehicles in the corner made him think that they were more involved than he originally thought. He wouldn’t be able to take a look tonight, so there was no reason to tell Sam about his suspicions. 

Not yet.

\--

“So you just ate dinner with them and they looked at your car?” Sam sounded like he didn’t quite believe him, and Steve couldn’t blame him. Steve had skipped what Bucky had told him about Wanda and Pietro, and the flirting. The flirting he left out because Sam would harass him about it and question whether he should continue or not. There was a very small part of Steve that agreed with Sam, but most of him wanted to see them again. Wanted to see Bucky again, if he was being completely honest. There was something about him.

Steve could see why he inspired such loyalty amongst his friends and Natasha was obviously protective of him. The tough guy act was a front, but he seemed to have as many walls as Steve did. And so Steve made the decision to lie to Sam and lie to the FBI by extension. They were debriefing over breakfast and Steve had made guilty waffles. Just because Sam didn’t know that didn’t make them any less guilt-ridden. “That about sums it up.”

“And you didn’t see anything else?” 

Steve thought of the two covered cars and shook his head. “Nope.”

“Huh.” Sam took another bite of guilt waffle. “Maybe they’re not involved after all.” 

“Maybe.” Steve focused on his own plate. “Did you find out anything else about Hydra?”

Sam put his fork down. “No. It’s like someone closed a door on it as soon as I started poking around.”

“Really?” Steve swallowed the bite he was chewing. “Were you able to print anything out?”

“A little bit.” Sam tapped the file that was on the table. “Not much more than what we’ve already gone over. There’s something in there about Stark Industries, but it’s so redacted that it might as well be blank.”

_ Stark Industries _ . They made weapons or at least they used to. They had abruptly stopped a few years ago, and now they did things like research and development into medical advances, especially related to injuries sustained in battle. It sounded like Tony Stark was trying to make amends for something, and Steve admired the effort. He found himself hoping that Sam wasn’t about to tell him that Stark Industries was in bed with a suspect entity like Hydra. “Anything solid?”

“Nah. It was an incident that happened right before Stark changed their business model, but it’s pretty much incomprehensible.” Sam drained the rest of his coffee and stood. “You know Fury’s going to want something soon or he’s going to pull you off this assignment.”

“I know.” Steve stood as well, picking up the folder and adding to the paperwork on his desk. “I’m working on it.”

“I know you are.” He didn’t deserve Sam’s faith in him. “I’ve got to go. Let me know when you make contact next, alright?”

“Sure.” Steve walked Sam to the door. “See you later?”

“Yeah, man. Drinks or something this weekend.”

“Sounds good.” Steve closed the door and resisted the urge to lean against it. He hated lying, and especially hated lying to Sam, but he wanted to be sure. That’s what he was telling himself. He needed undeniable truth before he brought hell down on people that might be innocent. He’d never forgive himself for that.

\--

Steve’s phone pinged. He looked at the unknown number for a few moments before opening it.

**This is Bucky. Hope you don’t mind Wanda giving me your number.**

Bucky had his number. Had gone to the trouble of asking Wanda for it. Steve put the phone down on the table and stared at it. It had seemed innocuous when Wanda texted him, but this was  _ Bucky _ . Bucky who had flirted with him and Steve had flirted right back. Normally, this would be a situation in which Steve would send a frantic text to Sam telling him that a hot guy was interested in him and asking what should he do, but he couldn’t do that this time. He couldn’t tell Sam that he was right, that Steve was compromised. 

Shit. He had to respond. Steve gritted his teeth, snatching up the phone and typing.

**It’s fine. What’s up?**

_ What’s up?  _ Steve wanted to bang his head on the table. He shouldn’t be allowed to communicate with people. His phone pinged again.

**If you want a crack at some non-official stuff there’s a thing happening this weekend.**

It had to be an illegal race. Steve felt his heart began to pound at the thought. He’d been involved in street-racing when his was younger, and he could remember the excitement in his veins. It was dangerous and thrilling and the thought of Bucky Barnes tearing down the street in that silver Chevelle was a huge turn on. 

**A thing?**

Steve couldn’t help poking at him a little just to see what he would say.

**You want in or not Grant?**

He winced at Bucky using his cover name. This wasn’t real. He wasn’t real to them, no matter how real they were to him. But the question on whether he wanted in on this or not wasn’t really a question at all.

**I want in.**

Steve sat his phone back down on the table and waited. He’d have to tell Sam if he did this and hope that he would understand. Steve could lie to himself and say that he was doing it as part of the investigation, a way to get closer to Barnes and his crew, but he knew that was bullshit. He wanted to race. Wanted that feeling again. He wanted to take the Mustang and make it roar. It might not be fast enough to win but he wanted to do it, wanted to try.

**I’ll send the time and place.**

Steve thought for a split second and typed:

**I’ll be there.**


	5. Chapter 5

CHAPTER 5

 

“I feel like I’ve been saying this a lot lately, because someone has to question your life choices, but you want to what?” Steve had called Sam as soon as he’d gotten the time and place for the race.

 

“I need to do it.” Steve was in his bedroom, trying to figure out what to wear. He stuck his head through the door to catch Sam’s disapproving glare and scowled. “You know I’m right.”

 

Sam rolled his eyes. “I don’t know any such thing. And what the hell are you doing in there?”

 

“I don’t know what to wear.” Steve’s voice was muffled as he pulled a t-shirt over his head. He heard Sam make a disgruntled noise and footsteps approached his bedroom. He turned and held his arms out to the side to see what Sam thought and frowned when Sam laughed so hard that he had to lean against the door frame. Steve put his hands on his hips and gave him his best ‘do not fuck with me, Sam’ glare. “Alright, alright. What?”

 

Sam’s giggles subsided as he got himself under control. “You going to add a snapback to this ensemble, dudebro?”

 

Steve threw up his hands and sat heavily on his bed. “Fine.” He waved a hand at his closet and dresser. “Pick something.” He should have been worried at the way Sam’s face lit up but he was too frustrated to care.

 

A few minutes later and he looked in the mirror, smoothing the white v-neck down and wondering if it was actually the wrong size. Sam stood behind him, arms crossed over his chest and nodding approvingly. “Perfect.”

 

Steve met his eyes in the mirror. “Are you sure about this?”

 

Sam laid his hand on his chest as if offended. “Steve. You dress like an old man. You need to stop hiding all,” he waved a hand up and down to indicate Steve’s torso, “this. Trust me.”

 

Steve tugged at the hem of the shirt again and shrugged. “I guess.”

 

“That’s the spirit.” Sam slapped him on the shoulder and headed toward the door of the bedroom. “Now we need to talk logistics of how you’re going to enter a highly illegal road race and how much we’re going to tell Fury about it.”

 

Steve was still looking in the mirror. Maybe Sam was right. Everything was tighter than he was used to but he supposed it looked good. Fine. Alright. He followed Sam out to the living room and started putting on his shoes. He stopped when Sam cleared his throat and shook his head. “Nope.” He pointed to the boots by the door. “Those.” Steve huffed a sigh and put his sneakers away. He yanked on the short lace-up boots and stood. 

 

“Fine. Do I pass inspection?” 

 

Sam looked him up and down. “You’ll do.” His smile faded. “Be careful, alright? Check in and, for Christ’s sake, don’t crash.” Sam’s brow furrowed. “Wait. You’re not taking the Challenger, are you.”

 

Steve shook his head. “Nope.”

 

“Wow.” Sam blew out a breath. “You  _ are _ serious about this.”

 

Steve grabbed his brown leather jacket and pulled it on, glancing at Sam for approval. “Yeah I am. If I’m going to do something stupid, might as well look cool doing it, right?” 

 

Sam laughed. “I guess, man.” He put his hand on Steve’s shoulder. “Check in when you get there and after the race, alright? We’ll talk about Fury in the morning.”

 

“Okay, mom, I will.” Steve shrugged. “Thanks for coming over here so late.”

 

“Anytime.” Sam walked over to the door and opened it. “Besides, someone needs to save you from your fashion victim self every once in awhile.” He ducked out the door when Steve snatched a pillow off the couch to throw at him. “Have fun!”

 

Steve put the pillow back on the couch and took a deep breath. A giddy sort of anticipation filled him and he needed to get his game face on. He could do this. He grabbed the keys hanging by the door and checked his pockets for his wallet and phone. 

 

Time to go.

 

\--

 

The decision to break out the Boss 302 was worth the look on Bucky’s face when he pulled up. Not to mention the rest of them. Pietro was practically drooling and even Natasha gave him an approving raised eyebrow. He had parked right next to the Chevelle for lack of knowing where else to go and he supposed he was showing off a bit. He was showing off a lot. He wanted to make an impression.  _ On Bucky, _ his traitorous brain whispered. 

 

Steve took a deep breath and got out, meeting Bucky’s eyes over the roof of the car. That was definitely a smirk being directed at him and he felt his face heat. He shook it off and walked around the front of the car toward where the group was gathered. Natasha watched him carefully and he tried to keep his face neutral. Cool. No big deal. 

 

“Nice car.” Bucky’s smile was infectious and Steve couldn’t help but return it. There were a lot more people milling about than Steve would have thought and Bucky leaned toward him to be heard. Their shoulders brushed together and Bucky didn’t move away. “Who did the rebuild?”

 

“I did.” Bucky looked at Steve for permission before running his hand over the hood. “I had some time off last year and did it.” Bucky walked around the back of the car slowly, taking a good look at it. Steve got the impression that he was cataloguing every upgrade that had been made to the it. “It was my mom’s dream car.” He had no idea why he said that. He hadn’t meant to say it. Bucky’s head snapped up and understanding flashed across his face. It was there and gone in a second, as if he didn’t want to give too much of himself away.

 

By unspoken agreement they looked over the gathered crowd instead of each other. “You want to know how this works?” Bucky had come around the car and was standing next to Steve again, arms crossed. Steve nodded and turned toward him to hear better. They were probably standing a little too close together but neither one of them shifted to make space. “Okay, there’ll be two sets of four. That’s usually all that there’s time for before the cops catch on.” He pointed down the road lined with a variety of cars, all angled to show off the work and care that had been put into them. “They’ll line up there,” he turned and pointed in the other direction, “and you can see the stop sign where the finish line will be down there.” It was a standard half mile setup. These weren’t street racing cars. They were ‘drive in a straight line and stay the hell out of their way’ cars. Bucky ran his eyes over his car again. “I got you a spot in the second race if you want it.”

 

Steve felt that rush of excitement again and he wasn’t sure that it was entirely at the prospect of the race. “Sure. Which one are you doing?”

 

“Same one.” There was that smirk again. “Feel like a nice, friendly bet?” 

 

Several, mostly pornographic, thoughts raced through Steve’s head. He cleared his throat. “Loser buys the other one a drink?”

 

Bucky chuckled and Steve soaked it up. “Sure. Why not. We’re going somewhere after this anyway, you want to come with?”

 

He shouldn’t. He promised Sam. He told him that he was going to the race and that was it. No sense of self preservation won out every time. “Sounds like a plan.”

 

“Just in case shit goes south, we’ll meet up at Toretto’s after. You know where it is?” Steve nodded. It wasn’t that far from the garage or his apartment. Easy walking distance, just in case. “Good.” Bucky looked over at where Clint was standing next to the man collecting money for the first race. “You making a wager?”

 

“I’ll watch this time around.” Steve wanted to take some time to get in the right headspace for this. It had been a while since he’d let himself go like this. “How much do I owe you for the spot in the second?”

 

“Don’t worry about it. Freebie for the new guy.” Bucky smirked and headed toward his own car, probably to do his own pre-race whatever. Once they got started, things would move really fast. They had to, to stay ahead of the cops.

 

Steve popped the hood and poked around, just to give himself something to do. He didn’t have long to wait because about fifteen minutes later, they were setting up the first race. He slammed the hood and got behind the wheel, following Bucky’s lead on what to do. Bucky nodded at him as he backed up and swung the Chevelle around to the designated ‘holding’ area behind the four cars going first. 

 

The two races had been perfectly matched. The first four cars were smaller with elaborate lighting systems, their engines a higher pitch than he was used to. They looked fun in their own way but Steve loved the solidity of the older cars. He looked over and followed Bucky’s example, getting out and standing by his car to watch the first round take off in a flash of lights and the whine of engines. He grinned at the people cheering them on, booing when the car they bet on fell behind. It made him feel alive in a way that hadn’t been there for a long time. He looked over and Bucky was watching him. Instead of jerking his eyes away, like he’d been caught doing something wrong, Steve held his gaze. 

 

There was something real there. And Steve couldn’t have it. Maybe after this investigation. Maybe after he cleared Bucky and his friends, he could come back and tell them the truth. They might be pissed for a while but they’d eventually forgive him, right? Who was he kidding? This whole situation had disaster written all over it. 

 

Steve turned away and shrugged out of his jacket, tossing it into the passenger seat. Do the race and go home. That’s what he promised Sam and that was what he was going to do. Decision made. He heard the unknown man shout for them to get ready and he got in, slamming the car door just a little bit harder than he needed to. He hadn’t wanted anything for himself for so long, and now, now he couldn’t afford to be selfish. There was too much at stake. The case, his job, his reputation. 

 

He needed this race. Needed it to get his head on straight. He edged up to the line that had been painted on the pavement, feeling the rumble through the steering wheel. His phone was laying on the seat and he scrolled through the list, knowing exactly what song he was looking for. 

 

The line up had Bucky and him in the middle, flanked by a beautiful Camaro on his left and what he was fairly certain was a Judge on Bucky’s right. That car would probably be his second choice if he hadn’t been tied to the Boss already. They were big and mean and he loved them. A pretty girl in a too short skirt and shoes with impossibly high heels stepped out in between their two cars. He glanced to his right and Bucky was focused on the road ahead and not looking at anyone or anything else. Steve could see the rest of the group standing at the side, Clint and Pietro whooping in excitement while Natasha stood and watched serenely. Wanda had her hands clasped under her chin and looked a little frightened if he was reading her correctly. 

 

He hit play on his phone when the girl put her arms up above her head and revved the engine, clutch engaged and gripping the gear shift. His heart was pounding and his breath came faster, all of his focus on the girl’s hands, waiting for them to drop. Time narrowed to this moment, the rush of anticipation running through his veins. It was a heady feeling and the closest he’d been to anything like sex in who knows how long. 

 

“GO!”

 

He dropped it into gear and stomped the gas, tires screeching for eternal seconds before they gripped and rocketed him forward, pushing him back into the seat. 

 

_ Fuel is pumping engines, _

_ Burning hard, loose and clean _

 

He caught a glimpse of silver out of the corner of his eye as Bucky’s car jumped ahead.  _ Oh hell no he’s not _ . Steve was nothing if not competitive and he was going to give it his all. He shifted gears and the car jerked forward, pulling just ahead. He kept his eye on the front corner of the Chevelle, forgetting the Camaro to his left as it fell back. 

 

_ Take the corner, join the crash, _

_ Headlights _

_ Alarms _

_ Another junkie lives too fast _

 

Bucky was giving him a run for his money and Steve was starting to realize that he was going to lose this race. The Chevelle nudged ahead and Steve chanced a look at Bucky. They both had windows down and he could see him clearly, shoulders shifting as he changed gears. He was in his element and Steve had to tear his eyes away. He was beautiful.

 

_ Give me fuel, _

_ Give me fire, _

_ Give me that which I desire _

 

Steve wanted him. He gritted his teeth and shifted again but Bucky pulled ahead. A few seconds later and it was over. They crossed the finish in a blur, tires squealing as they braked. He’d lost but it’d been worth it just to get out there again. He took a deep breath and blew it out, laughing to himself. A thirty to forty five second race and his cock was so hard he couldn’t see straight. He coasted to a stop and rested his head back against the headrest, willing the inconvenient erection away. Bucky pulled up beside him and, oh, that was not helping matters in the least little bit. Nor was his shit-eating grin. Steve laughed to himself again.

 

“I almost had you.”

 

Bucky laughed out loud, head flung back. It was mesmerizing and not helping the state of Steve’s pants. He wanted to suck a mark on that outstretched neck, kiss that laughing mouth. “You weren’t even close, Stevie.”

 

Steve almost choked. “Stevie?” They were slowly driving back to the starting line and Bucky gave him a challenging look. Steve was just about to snark back when someone started yelling “Cops, cops, cops!” It was like kicking over an anthill. 

 

Bucky slammed on his brakes and pulled himself halfway out the window in a move that shouldn’t have been as graceful as it was. He scanned the crowd and shouted, “Nat!” Steve heard a faint answer of “Got it” and then the ominous sound of sirens in the distance. Bucky turned to him. “Go to Toretto’s, we’ll see you there. Go!”

 

He ducked back in the car and took off, tires boiling. Steve wondered about the others for a split second before seeing a flash of bright purple that could only be Clint’s car heading in the opposite direction. He followed their lead and raced off, engine roaring toward home. He wasn’t going to go to Toretto’s. He  _ wasn’t _ . He was going to text Sam to let him know that he wasn’t dead and then go jerk off. 

 

Really.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Earning the explicit rating :)

CHAPTER 6

 

The club wasn’t far away, so he decided to walk. At first glance, he didn’t see anyone he recognized and walked to the bar, intending to text Bucky to see if they were there. He’d just ordered a drink at the bar when he saw him. Suddenly Steve was very glad that he decided not to tell Sam where he was going, because he had no idea how he would pass it off as doing his job. Because Bucky was  _ dancing _ . Steve leaned on the bar and couldn’t help but watch him dancing with Natasha. They were beautiful together. It made Steve’s heart clench in his chest because the way they moved together screamed of intimacy. Steve had been sure that there was nothing between them, but now he wasn’t so sure. 

 

“It’s not what you think.” Steve jerked in surprise. Clint had said it right into his ear and he’d had no idea he was even there. 

 

“I wasn’t, I mean-” Steve was babbling. Clint grinned at him, handing him the beer that the bartender had been trying to give him while he gaped.

 

Clint pointed at his feet. “Two left feet. I can’t hope to do her justice out there.” He looked out at the packed dance floor and his smile got even wider. He nudged Steve with his elbow, making him bobble his beer, and nodded toward the dancers. “Looks like someone wants you out there.”

 

Steve looked up and his mouth dropped open. Natasha, arms still around Bucky’s neck, was beckoning him over with a single finger. He saw her say something into Bucky’s ear and grin, moving even closer to him if that was possible. He took a long pull from his beer bottle and looked at Clint, who shrugged. “I’d do what the lady says, if I were you.”

 

Steve stood there for another second until Clint rolled his eyes, plucking his beer from his hand and giving him a shove. “Go. Trust me.”

 

Steve stumbled forward and Natasha caught his eye over Bucky’s shoulder, crooking her finger at him again. He went, heart pounding, the music so loud that he couldn’t think but he went anyway. He threaded his way through the other dancers as the two pulled apart. Natasha gave Bucky a chaste kiss on the lips. She put her hand on Steve’s arm and he bent down to hear her better. “He’s all yours.” Steve blinked at her and she laughed, kissing him on the cheek. “Go on.”

 

Bucky was watching him a little warily as he continued to sway to the beat. He was giving him an out, a chance to walk away if he wanted to, but Steve couldn’t have made himself leave if his life depended on it. He moved forward and caught the relieved look that washed over Bucky’s face before it was replaced with the cocky smirk that Steve was growing accustomed to now. Steve knew that he wasn’t a great dancer by any stretch of the imagination, but he’d give it his best shot to get closer to Bucky. He was drawn to him, swaying in a way that he hoped was in sync to the music, putting his hand on Bucky’s chest. Steve leaned in closer so that he could say in Bucky’s ear, “I think you’re trading down.”

 

Bucky laughed and threaded a finger through a belt loop on Steve’s jeans to pull him closer. “Not from where I’m standing.”

 

Steve’s breath caught and he allowed himself to be tugged flush to Bucky’s body. Bucky was just  _ this _ much shorter than him, so they were eye to eye. It was already warm in the club and Steve felt his face flush, could feel the same light sheen of sweat that was reflected on Bucky’s face and neck. He reached up and swept a stray lock of hair behind Bucky’s ear without thinking about it, fingers lingering on warm skin before pulling away, putting a little distance between them. “I wouldn’t get too close, I’m a horrible dancer.”

 

“You’re doing fine.” Bucky pulled him close again, hips moving to the music. He had his hands on Steve’s waist, one of his thumbs sneaking under the hem of Steve’s t-shirt to rub circles on bare skin. Steve didn’t know what to with his hands and settled for putting them on Bucky’s shoulders, feeling suddenly like he was at the prom or something. This was why he didn’t dance. He must have looked incredibly uncomfortable because Bucky’s hands slid up his back so he could lean in and talk right into his ear. “Look, you don’t have to if you don’t-”

 

Steve shook his head, moving his hand to the side of Bucky’s neck to keep him from stepping away. “No! No, I want to, I’m just-”

 

“A horrible dancer?” Bucky grinned, fingers flexing on Steve’s back. “Maybe I can take your mind off of that.” He telegraphed his motions, giving Steve every chance to pull back. “Tell me if I’m reading this wrong.” 

Steve forgot all about dancing when Bucky kissed him. It was slow and sweet and Steve could have drowned in it. He tightened his hands reflexively as he kissed him back, stubble rough and scraping a thrilling swath across his skin. The sheer want that had flooded him during the race came rushing back. 

 

He wanted more. 

 

Steve surged forward, his thigh slotting itself between Bucky’s legs. He licked his way into Bucky’s mouth with an intensity that shocked even him. Bucky made a surprised noise but then crushed Steve against him, almost desperate in the way he held on to him. The hard line of his cock was pressed against Steve’s thigh and he broke off the kiss with a harsh breath. “We need to slow down.”

 

Steve didn’t care that they were in the middle of the dance floor, people all around, staring at them, leering at them. He grabbed the collar of Bucky’s flannel shirt to keep him close. “I don’t want to slow down.” Bucky huffed out a laugh and kissed him again, calmer but with a scrape of teeth across Steve’s bottom lip as he drew away. 

 

“I’m not much for public sex,” he looked Steve up and down, taking in his heaving chest and obvious arousal, “but I might make an exception for you.” Bucky ran his right hand down Steve’s arm, tangling their fingers together. “I need a drink, how about you?” Steve nodded and Bucky squeezed his hand, and turned to lead him toward the bar. 

 

Steve wanted to forget who he was, just for tonight. Forget who Bucky might be. Pretend that they had met at this bar and danced and kissed.  _ God _ . He was still half hard in his jeans and the sense of anticipation was overwhelming. They’d have a drink and then go back to his or, more likely, Bucky’s, and then… Steve shook his head and drew his hand away, gesturing toward the bar. “I’ll get us something, you might want to go and talk to them.” He nodded toward where Natasha, Clint and Wanda had grabbed a high top table. Natasha was watching them carefully, a small smile on her face, while Clint gave Bucky a big thumbs up and a knowing grin. Wanda hid her mouth behind her hand and blushed at them both. He ordered their drinks and waited, leaning against the bar and watching Bucky and his friends. Bucky kept giving him little glances now and then and Steve couldn’t help but smile. 

 

He wasn’t sure what this was, if it was just going to be for tonight or something else, but he was going to see where it went. 

 

Sam was going to be so disappointed in him.

 

\--

 

It had taken them having one more beer before the tension had them stumbling out of the club, making it just outside to where the Chevelle was waiting. Bucky pushed him up against the car. Steve could feel the cool metal against his back where his t-shirt had rucked up, and it was a sharp contrast to the warmth of Bucky at his front. They kissed hungrily, all teeth and tongue, and Steve wanted Bucky to drag him into the back of that car and just have at him. Bucky was sucking a mark on his neck and Steve was having a hard time forming words at the moment, but he had to try. “Thought you were against the idea of  public sex.”

 

Bucky took Steve’s earlobe in his teeth, sending a shiver up his spine. “You’re making it really  _ hard _ to resist.” He punctuated the statement by pressing his thigh against Steve’s rapidly hardening cock, making him bite back a groan. Steve huffed out a laugh, tilting his head back to encourage the attention to his throat. 

 

“That was the worst line ever.”

 

He felt Bucky’s grin against his neck. “But did it work?”

 

Steve hooked a finger under Bucky’s chin so that he could look him in the eye. “Yours or mine?” Bucky groped behind him to unlock the door. He yanked it open and pushed Steve into the bucket seat. Steve grinned at him through the windshield as he walked around to get in. “Yours, I’m guessing?” 

 

Bucky cranked the Chevelle and revved the engine a few times. He looked at Steve for a second before reaching over to grab a handful of his t-shirt, meeting him over the gearshift in a messy kiss. It was hot and filthy and Steve was a moment away from going with his instincts and seeing how well they fit into the back of the car when Bucky pulled away. He let go of Steve’s shirt, smoothing it over his chest before putting his hand back on the wheel. “Yeah, mine.” 

 

Bucky gave him a wide grin and stomped the gas, tires screeching as Steve let out a laugh as he was pressed back into the seat.

 

\--

 

Steve only caught a glimpse of Bucky’s apartment before he was pushed up against the back of the door. They had navigated the stairs side by side, hands and shoulders brushing until he had thought he was going to combust, and now the heat was pouring between them. Steve had his hands plastered to Bucky’s back, sliding them down until he was cupping his ass. It was just as glorious as he’d imagined the first time he’d seen him.  

 

He started to slip his fingers under the hem of Bucky’s shirt, searching for bare skin when Bucky stopped him, grabbing his wrists and pulling away from his mouth. Steve put his hands up, taking them away from Bucky’s body immediately. “Sorry, did I-”

 

Bucky shook his head. “No. It wasn’t anything you did. Before this goes any farther, I need to show you something.” He kicked off his boots and Steve followed suit, assuming that anything that Bucky was going to show him wasn’t going to put a stop to where this was going.

 

“I was hoping you were going to show me something.” Steve was trying for light-hearted and Bucky gave him a smile, his hair a mess and his lips kiss-bitten. He gave Bucky a much more chaste kiss. “What is it?”

 

“Just,” Bucky hesitated and took a step back, “here.” He looked up at Steve uncertainly before starting to strip off the long-sleeved flannel shirt. He pulled off the right sleeve and took a deep breath before pulling off the left. Steve drew in a sharp breath. The moonlight coming in through the windows in the darkened studio apartment made Bucky’s left arm a brilliant silver where it peeked out from under the sleeve of his t-shirt. He blinked, not wanting to stare, but a thousand thoughts were racing through his brain.

 

_ Oh god, it’s him. It was him in the video, it was him hijacking the trucks. Why? Why did it have to be him? Why now? I just found you… _

 

Steve should get out of there. He should walk away. He should call Sam and tell him that he had proof, tangible proof that it was Bucky and his friends that were behind everything. 

 

But.

 

Bucky was standing there, vulnerable and unsure, with his flannel shirt wadded up in his hands in front of him like a shield and Steve couldn’t do it. The sheer amount of trust that it had taken for Bucky to show himself like that was astounding, and even though Steve wasn’t deserving of it, he wasn’t going to break it right now. He’d find a way out of this. There had to be a good reason why Bucky was doing what he did. 

 

He realized that he’d been silent for far too long when Bucky sighed and started to put his shirt back on. Steve stepped forward and stopped him, running his hand across the shining metal and taking the shirt to throw it over a chair. “Wait. Just, just let me.” He took Bucky’s gloved hand and gently undid the velcro holding it on, pulling it off finger by finger. He tossed the glove on top of the shirt and took both of Bucky’s hands in his, lifting them up to press a kiss to the back of each. “It’s alright, Buck.” He let go of Bucky’s right hand and cupped his cheek, running his thumb across his sharp cheekbone. “You’re beautiful.” 

 

“Yeah, right.” Bucky was disbelieving, but he was smiling now, and that’s all Steve wanted. He’d deal with the rest of the mess tomorrow. There had to be a way to fix this. He was being incredibly selfish, but he couldn’t leave Bucky now, not when he was looking at him like that. Steve reached for the hem of Bucky’s t-shirt, pulling it up and off of him. He took in the mass of scars where metal met flesh and leaned forward slowly to make sure Bucky was okay with it before pressing a kiss the worst of them at the seam of the join. Bucky shivered but didn’t pull away. 

 

Steve still held Bucky’s metal hand in his own when he felt warm fingers under the hem of his own shirt. He let go and allowed Bucky to pull it over his head. Bucky threw it to the floor and stepped forward, silently asking for Steve to wrap him in his arms. Steve hissed out a breath at the first touch of skin on skin, splaying a hand on Bucky’s back and tangling the fingers of his other hand in long dark hair, releasing it from where it had been pulled back tightly. It was Steve’s turn to shiver when he felt metal fingers tentatively rest on his shoulder. Bucky started to pull it away but Steve nudged it back into place. “It’s good. It’s just a little cold.” 

 

Bucky pressed his face into Steve’s neck. “It’ll warm up.”

 

“It’s because you’re so hot.” Bucky groaned at the bad line and Steve pressed a kiss to his temple. He nudged his face against Bucky’s until he looked back up at him. Their eyes locked and the urgency surged back, white hot and burning bright. They moved toward each other, mouths crashing together. Bucky turned him and pushed him toward the bed hidden behind the low wall separating it from the rest of the living space. 

 

The back of Steve’s knees hit the edge of the mattress and he sat down, hands flying to the button of Bucky’s jeans. Bucky bowed his body over him, keeping as much contact as possible. Steve slid the jeans down over his slim hips, leaning forward to mouth the head of Bucky’s erection through the thin cotton of his boxer briefs. Bucky’s hands tightened on his shoulders. Steve felt a small sense of triumph in causing Bucky to forget his self-consciousness of the metal one. 

 

Steve lapped at the head through the fabric and grinned when Bucky muttered, “Christ,” and pushed him back onto the bed. He shimmied out of his jeans and took off his socks before starting to work on Steve’s. “You’re a menace.” 

 

Steve lifted his hips and helped Bucky pull his jeans and socks off, leaving them both in their underwear. He looked up at Bucky, taking in the broad chest that he wanted to run his hands over. If this was going to be the only time that he got to have this, he wanted to drink Bucky in, absorb as much of him as he could. Steve sat up and laid his palm flat on Bucky’s chest, right over his heart. He could feel it pounding beneath his touch. He trailed his fingers down Bucky’s stomach, tracing hard muscle until he reached the band of his boxer briefs. 

 

He slipped his fingertips under the waistband and looked up at Bucky for permission. In answer, Bucky hooked his thumbs under the band and started to pull them down. Steve took over and pushed them down his legs until he could step out of them. He couldn’t take his eyes off Bucky’s cock, putting his hands on Bucky’s hips and pulling him forward to kiss the tip of it. He glanced up at Bucky from beneath his eyelashes, well aware of the picture that he was painting as he swiped his tongue up the length of him.

 

Bucky sucked in a breath. “Jesus Christ, Steve.” He pushed on Steve’s shoulder, laying him back down on the bed and nudging him up the mattress. “God, get these off.” He tugged off Steve’s underwear, handling him roughly in his impatience. He crawled up Steve’s body, and that was a sight that Steve would never forget. The flash of silver, the heat of his skin, the smell of sweat and soap and  _ Bucky _ . Their erections slid together and Bucky smirked at Steve’s groan of pleasure and ground their hips together. “There’s slick in the drawer.” Steve reached toward where Bucky indicated, only to lose focus when Bucky moved down to lap at a nipple. 

 

“Shit.” Steve threaded his hand in Bucky’s hair, encouraging him to stay right there. He bit back another moan when Bucky introduced a bit of teeth. The sight of Bucky peering at him through his hair as he sucked and bit almost made him lose it right then and there. He tightened his fingers in Bucky’s hair and gently pulled him away. “God. Look at you.” He kept his grip in the long strands of hair and urged Bucky back up to his mouth, lips barely touching. “I’m going to get the lube now.” 

 

Bucky grinned at him and gave him a quick kiss, just a press of lips. “Yeah, why don’t you do that.” Steve reached toward the drawer that Bucky had pointed out, rummaging around until he came up with the small tube. There were condoms in the drawer as well, but he wasn’t ready for that. It’d been a long time since he’d had sex with anyone, so he’d rather keep things simple. Messy, but simple. 

 

He squirted some lube into the palm of his hand, rubbing his fingertips in it to warm it up. Bucky lifted up just enough so that Steve could get his hand around both of them and  _ god  _ was that good. He got his other hand back in Bucky’s hair and pulled him down to his mouth again, kissing him while he stroked them both, the kissing quickly turning into panting into each other’s mouths. Bucky moved above him, thrusting into the circle of Steve’s hand. 

 

It wasn’t long before Steve felt that familiar warmth building at the base of his spine, the friction too good to hold on. He buried his face in Bucky’s neck, the metal of his shoulder against his cheek, moving his hand faster until he spilled onto his stomach, slicking the way even further for Bucky. His hips lost their rhythm as he followed Steve with a shout. 

 

Bucky slumped against Steve’s chest, smearing come between them and not caring a bit. “Fuck.”

 

Steve snorted, running his clean hand through Bucky’s hair and down his back. “Maybe next time.” Bucky’s shoulders shook with what were honest to god giggles, and Steve could have died happy. He gently moved Bucky off of him where he promptly flopped onto his back, loose-limbed and smiling. Totally at ease. It was a wonderful sight. He lay there for a minute before getting up, unselfconscious and stretching, the muscles in his back flexing in a mesmerizing way.

 

He held out a hand to Steve, who took it, allowing Bucky to pull him up out of bed. “Come on. Shower, snack and sleep. What do you say?”

 

Steve squeezed Bucky’s hand and followed him toward the bathroom. “Sounds perfect.”

 

\--

 

The sunlight streaming through the windows lit Bucky’s face, his lashes dark shadows against his cheeks. Steve had woken up first, blinking and disoriented for a moment before remembering where he was and what he’d done the previous night. He’d almost gotten up then, pulling on his scattered clothes and walking out without another word. It would have been the easy way out. The coward’s way out. If he’d snuck out like a thief in the night, he would have missed this. Would have missed Bucky waking up slowly, looking more and more like the man he’d been before whatever had happened to him over there to break him and make him harder, more worn. 

 

He really was beautiful.

 

He lay on his right side and it made Steve wonder if lying on the other side hurt because of his arm, or if that had just been how he’d fallen asleep. He wanted to know everything there was to know about the man lying beside him. Either the sunlight or the weight of Steve’s gaze woke him because Bucky started to stir. He rolled onto his stomach, burying his face in the pillow. Steve took the opportunity to trace the scars that radiated out from his shoulder, trailing down until they faded at his lower back. Bucky turned his head, grey eyes shining through his mess of dark hair. 

 

“Hey.” 

 

His voice was sleep rough, gravelly and sexy, and Steve thought he could wake up to it everyday. “Hey, yourself.” Steve shuffled closer and pressed a kiss to the smooth metal that made up Bucky’s shoulder. He felt Bucky’s eyes on him, watching, waiting to see what he would do. He traced the red star with a fingertip. “It’s like the logo for the garage.”

 

“Yeah.” Bucky rolled back onto his side, facing Steve. He reached out with that metal hand tentatively, still unsure if Steve would welcome its touch. Steve smiled at him and waited. Bucky finally completed the move, wrapping cool fingers around the back of Steve’s neck and pulling him closer for a kiss. They both tasted sleep sour and desperately in need of a toothbrush, but neither minded. Steve rested his hand on Bucky’s waist, just above where the sheet rested, thumb sweeping a slow path back and forth. Bucky broke the kiss and looked him in the eye, clearing his throat to speak. “Um, I know you want to ask, so can you just ask and get it over with?” 

 

It wasn’t said in anger or frustration, but just a simple desire to get that part out of the way. Steve was happy to play along. “What happened?”

 

Bucky rolled onto his back, his right arm wrapping around Steve’s shoulders and tugging him over to lay on his chest. It was probably easier to talk about it if he didn’t have to look at him. Steve rested his cheek on Bucky’s chest and draped an arm across his stomach, letting Bucky move him where he wanted him. 

 

“I used to be in the Army.” Steve could feel Bucky’s heart rate start to pick up, obviously nervous about this topic, and reached up to run a soothing hand through his hair. Bucky breathed out and leaned into the touch before continuing. “I was part of a special unit. It’s how I met Nat and Clint. I, um, can’t give any details or anything because we did a lot of classified shit, but...anyway.” Steve draped his arm across Bucky’s stomach again, patient and waiting for him to continue. He knew part of this story already and he was glad that Bucky couldn’t see him, because he wasn’t sure if he could pretend to be ignorant of all that Bucky was trying to tell him. “We were escorting someone, let’s just say high profile,”  _ Stark, _ Steve thought, “and something happened, someone messed up. It was routine and easy and then everything exploded.” Bucky’s breath was shaky now, his voice almost a whisper. “When I woke up, I was in a hospital in Germany and my arm was gone. They told me that half my unit was dead and the ‘high profile’ someone had been kidnapped on our watch.” 

 

Steve knew exactly what he was talking about, had guessed Stark from the beginning but now it was starting to make sense. Bucky had been part of the unit that had been working with Hydra to escort Tony Stark when the man had vanished in the desert, taken by a terrorist group and held for weeks until he was rescued. Steve wondered if Natasha and Clint had anything to do with that. 

 

Bucky cleared his throat and continued. “Anyway. When I got out and got back stateside I was nominated for a pilot program to test high tech prosthetics for veterans that had lost limbs in battle.” He held up his left hand, clenching his fist and then releasing it, the shining fingers nimble and lifelike. “So now you know.”

 

Steve pressed a kiss to Bucky’s chest, right above his heart. “Thank you for telling me.” Bucky’s arm tightened around his shoulders, holding him close. Steve was going to have to tell him. Not now, not like this. Not when Bucky had just shared this momentous  _ thing _ with him. He wouldn’t do that. Couldn’t do that. He needed to talk it over with Sam. Sam would know what to do, he always did. Speaking of which…

 

As if on cue, there was an angry vibrating noise as his phone skittered across the floor from where it had escaped from his jeans pocket. “Oh god, that’s mine. I forgot to check in last night.” Steve reluctantly untangled himself and got up, picking up his phone to see what was waiting for him. He’d sent Sam a brief text assuring him that he hadn’t wrapped himself around a telephone pole but he hadn’t counted on Sam texting him to make plans to come over that morning to debrief as usual. It had been stupid really, but he’d had other things on his mind at the time. 

 

“Check in?” Bucky lay back, hands laced behind his head, seemingly at ease after that difficult conversation. He also looked grateful for the change in topic, so Steve didn’t say anything else about it. 

 

“Yeah. Overprotective friend.” Steve was scrolling through the texts until he reached the one where Sam threatened to call in the cavalry if he didn’t answer. Evidently, he’d gone to Steve’s apartment and was worried when he, obviously, didn’t answer his door. “Shit.” 

 

“In trouble?” Bucky stretched before flopping back into the pillows. “Shame.” Steve looked over at him and caught the smirk on his face, wanting nothing more than to crawl back in bed with him. 

 

Steve stared for a minute before shaking his head. “I’ve got to go. Sorry.” He glanced around for his underwear and almost fell off the bed when they hit him in the side of the head, flung by a grinning Bucky. “Gee. Thanks.”

 

“Glad to help.” The sheet had slid down even further and Steve’s eyes couldn’t help but follow the length of Bucky’s body that it uncovered. “You sure you have to go?”

 

Steve stood and starting pulling on his clothes, vindicated when Bucky watched him pull up his jeans, eyes following his every move. “Afraid so. Overprotective friend is also a co-worker.”

 

Bucky sighed. “Fine. Come by after work then?” He sounded like he didn’t care but Steve caught the slight vulnerability there. He located his t-shirt and socks, pulling them on before walking back over to the bed and climbing on, straddling Bucky’s sheet clad hips. He leaned down, hands planted on either side of Bucky’s head and kissed him, slow and lingering. 

 

“Yeah. I’ll see you then.” Steve stole one more kiss before getting back up and sliding his feet into his boots. He caught one last look at Bucky, relaxed and happy. He took it with him, knowing what was coming and what he would have to do. 

 

He had to go.

 


	7. Chapter 7

CHAPTER 7

 

Sam was waiting for him outside his building. Steve could pinpoint the moment when he realized that Steve was still wearing the same clothes that he’d helped him pick out the night before and Steve couldn’t meet his gaze. He unlocked the door and headed up the stairs, praying that Sam would let them at least get in the door before laying into him.

 

He opened the apartment door and held it, Sam walking in with an unreadable expression. He closed and locked it, leaning against it for a moment before turning around to face his fate. Sam’s brow was furrowed, trying to figure him out. Steve looked at him, trying for defiant and failing miserably.

 

“Oh shit. Steve, you didn’t.”

 

Sam watched him as he walked over to the couch, slumping down on it and looking up at the ceiling. He couldn’t even look at Sam to tell him. “Sam. I messed up.” He pressed the heels of his hands into his eye sockets and felt the couch dip beside him as Sam sat down. 

 

“Okay. Start from the beginning.”

 

And Steve did. He told him about the race even though he’d already let him know how that went. Then he took a deep breath and told him about his decision to go and meet Bucky and the crew at the club. Told him about dancing, which got a muffled laugh because Sam was no fool. Told him about kissing Bucky which drew a heavy silence because Sam knew what the past year, or two if Steve was being honest, had done to him. Told him that he’d gone home with Bucky, which got an outraged noise and then...

 

Then he told him about the arm.

 

“Fuck.” Sam looked at him and Steve nodded in agreement. “I mean it, man. Fuck.” 

 

“I know.” Steve finally rolled his head to the side to look at Sam. “I don’t know what I’m going to do.” Now that the high of being with Bucky had started to fade, the reality of what he’d done crashed down on him. He’d developed feelings for and then slept with a person that was now the prime suspect in a very serious investigation. He’d put his job on the line, much less his emotional well-being, and probably Sam’s career too. 

 

Sam got up and paced back and forth a few times, scrubbing a hand over his face. “First, I’m getting some fucking coffee. It is way too early to process any of this without coffee.” He marched into Steve’s kitchen to make coffee, knowing where everything was as easily as if he was in his own kitchen. “Second, go take a shower and change clothes. I can’t be looking at your sad puppy dog eyes and walk of shame t-shirt while I try and figure this out.” He looked over at Steve and threw his hands up in the air. “Yep. Those eyes. I can’t stand it.” He turned back to the coffee maker and got to work, essentially ignoring Steve until he did as he was told.

 

\--

 

Steve watched him move around the kitchen before blowing out a breath and getting up from the couch. He walked into his bedroom and shut the door, leaning against it for a moment before moving toward the bathroom. He undressed as he went, leaving a trail of clothes on the floor of the normally neat room. The clothes Bucky had taken off him a few hours ago. 

 

The hot water helped to push back the headache that had started to form, but did nothing for the ache in his chest. It was what he deserved for being selfish. Sam, his friend not the FBI agent, would disagree with that line of thought, but it didn’t mean that it wasn’t true. He had wanted Bucky, wanted something for himself, someone that looked at him like that, like he was something special. He closed his eyes as the water pounded down on the back of his neck, forehead resting against the cold tile. 

 

He didn’t know how to fix this.  

 

_ Was there a way to fix this? _

 

He could turn Bucky in and walk away. All he had to do was report into Fury about Bucky’s arm and that would be that. Bucky and all of the people that had accepted Steve into their midst would go to prison for a very long time. He thought of Wanda in prison for her association with Bucky, after he had taken her in practically off the streets out the kindness of his heart, and shook his head. That wasn’t an option. 

 

He’d never be able to live with himself if he didn’t  at least try to figure out why Bucky was risking his life to hit those trucks. There had to be something more to it, it couldn’t be stealing secrets and weapons to sell to the highest bidder.  _ But what if it was? _ That niggling thought wouldn’t go away. 

 

Steve shut the water off and reached for a towel. He dried himself off briskly and wrapped it around his waist, looking in the mirror to take in the dark circles under his eyes. He didn’t do the whole not sleeping thing well. He could smell coffee now, and bacon, which meant that Sam was stress cooking. If he waited him out he’d move past breakfast foods and onto cookies. 

 

He moved into his bedroom to get dressed, pulling clothes out of drawers without paying much attention to them. He was afraid of what Sam was going to say, what he was going to tell him that he had to do. He looked in the mirror to smooth down his hair and then padded out into the living room. Sam had gone the extra mile and had set Steve’s tiny kitchen table with napkins and everything, like they were adults that ate at the table instead of sitting on the couch like heathens. 

 

Sam was already sitting there, sipping his coffee. He nodded to the other chair. “Sit. Eat. And then we’ll talk.” Steve obediently sat and dug in. It was avoidance at its best but any delay was welcome. They ate in silence until Sam finally pushed his plate away, gathering both coffee mugs for refills. He waited until he’d sat back down, both of them with fresh coffee, before speaking. 

 

“So, I keep going over this mess in my head,” he fiddled with the coffee mug in his hand, twisting it back and forth, “and the only thing I keep coming back to is what do we do now?” Steve looked up from where he’d been staring into the depths of his cup, a small flicker of hope rising inside him. Sam barrelled on. “I know what Fury would expect us to do, but I also believe that there’s more going on here that we haven’t seen or figured out yet.” He met Steve’s eyes calmly, his resolve clear. “So I vote that we take a day or two to make sure that we have the whole story. Just to be sure.”

 

“Sam, I-”

 

“Don’t thank me yet.” Sam’s face was more grim than Steve had ever seen it before. “If I don’t like what I see, I won’t hesitate to turn your boy and all of his buddies in faster than you can blink.” Steve nodded. He wouldn’t expect anything else.

 

“I understand.” He did understand. Sam’s career and livelihood were on the line, and he would have to do the right thing if Steve was completely wrong about all of this. About Bucky. “Thanks, Sam.”

 

“Right.” Sam took a final drink of his coffee and stood. “Let’s go and see what we missed.”

 

\--

 

Steve’s living room was a mess by the time they’d finished. There were papers everywhere and Sam was draped across the couch with Steve’s laptop on his chest, clicking through the videos of the different heists, one after another. Steve was flipping through the still photos, trying not to see Bucky in every frame. It was impossible. He tossed that stack back on the desk and picked up the folder with the driver’s statements. 

 

There had been a different driver each time, their statements almost identical. But there was something that had caught his eye in the photo that was clipped to one on top. What was  _ that _ ? Steve stood up so fast that his desk chair skittered back, almost tipping over. He caught it with one hand before rushing over and snatching the laptop off Sam’s chest. He ignored his indignant squawk of “Hey!” and minimized the video that Sam had been going over. 

 

“Where is it? Where is it?” Steve clicked back through the report files that they had compiled, looking for a specific one. “There!” He plunked the laptop back onto Sam’s stomach and grabbed the driver’s photo from the file. “Look. What do you see?”

 

“An asshole that beat the shit out of you?” Sam looked at the screen and then at the photo. “Give me a clue here, man.”

 

“That.” Steve poked his finger at the screen, pointing out the telltale Hydra logo on Rumlow’s uniform. He switched to the photo of the driver. “And that.” The black on black logo was hard to see but it was unmistakably the same one. 

 

Sam picked up the laptop so that he could sit up. “So the drivers are Hydra?”

 

Steve grabbed the file with the latest driver’s photo. Same logo. “There’s got to be a connection.”

 

Sam clicked through the little bit that he’d been able to pull up before someone had shut down his queries into Hydra. “That last op that Rumlow was on, the one with Stark. Exactly how high tech is this arm that Bucky has?”

 

“Well, I couldn’t tell that it was metal until he took his shirt off.” Steve felt his cheeks begin to heat but Sam didn’t say a word. “It’s Stark tech, has to be. Bucky said he’d been nominated for a pilot program to test advanced prosthetics for veterans.”

 

“And Stark was the one that suddenly grew a heart and started throwing his R & D at veterans.” Sam flipped over to the file on Bucky, pulling up his military photo. “That answers why a mechanic has a Stark Industries prosthetic. Stark feels responsible for Bucky losing his arm.”

 

Steve stared at Bucky’s photo. The one that made him look so young and hopeful, ready to make a difference. “I’m going to have to go and tell him about this, aren’t I.” It was inevitable. If they were going to follow this trail to the end, he was going to have to face Bucky and ask him some difficult questions. He was going to have to come clean.

 

“Yeah, you’re going to have to go and talk to him.” Sam’s pity was palpable. “I’m sorry.”

 

“If we get on the other side of this,” Steve hesitated before saying the next out loud, “do you think he’ll ever forgive me?”

 

“Honestly, I don’t know.” Sam stood and put a comforting hand on Steve’s shoulder. “He will or he won’t. You just have to do what you think is right.” He gave Steve a small smile. “Which is something I never say because most of the time I’m convinced that your decision making abilities should be revoked. You need a handler.”

 

“So, you’re saying you don’t want the job?” Steve huffed out a laugh and gave Sam the best leer that he could dredge up at the moment. “We could be good, sweetheart.”

 

“Okay. You know I love your dumb ass but never do that again.” Sam pulled him into a hug and Steve felt some of the tension leave his body. Touch-starved is what his therapist would have said if he’d continued seeing her. He didn’t want to use that as an excuse for his decisions the previous night but it was part of it. Bucky had made something that had been buried deep inside Steve roar to life. He desperately wanted to feel that again. 

 

He drew back from Sam, leaving the warm comfort of his friend’s arms. He had to stand up and do this on his own. “Wish me luck?”

 

Sam gave him a long look. “Good luck, but I think you’ll be alright.” He gathered his things and started for the door. “Wear another tight shirt and maybe he’ll be so occupied with getting his hands on you again that he won’t notice when you tell him that you’re a cop.” He stopped with the door open. “Don’t lead with that, though.”

 

“I  _ know _ , Sam.” Steve knew if he went in that garage and announced that he was actually a cop, he’d probably get shot. “Go on. I’ll be in touch.” Sam shut the door behind him and Steve collapsed onto the couch. How in the hell was he going to do this? Where did he even begin?

 

His phone was on the coffee table, just a few feet away. He tapped out a message.

 

**What time can I come by?**

 

He wanted to keep it casual, not give anything away until they were face to face. He tossed the phone onto the couch cushion and made himself comfortable to wait. He figured Bucky would be busy at the garage and might not have time to answer right away. His phone pinged after a minute and he couldn’t help the grin that spread across his face. The joy of knowing that Bucky wanted to see him again faded as he reminded himself that he needed to keep it together, he had to do the right thing.

 

**Anytime after 5. I’m completely booked until then. Just come to the back garage.**

 

Steve glanced at the time. It was still fairly early so he’d have plenty of time to go back over the files and make sure that he wasn’t missing anything else. 

 

**See you then.**

 

Steve yawned. Maybe the files could wait. It was still afternoon, plenty of time for a nap. He’d slept at Bucky’s, but they’d been up pretty late. After the initial frenzy, Bucky had gotten on his knees in the shower for him, hair slicked back from the water and pinning Steve’s hips to the tiled wall. He’d returned the favor when they’d dragged themselves out, drying off and stumbling back to the bed. He’d proudly taken Bucky apart with his mouth and fingers before they’d finally had enough and collapsed onto the bed. They’d gotten comfortably wrapped up in each other and fallen asleep shortly after.

 

He moved the debris of their rushed research off the couch and stretched out, clicking on the tv to find something mindless for background noise. He skipped past that British baking show that he loved because he would actually watch it. He settled on an old sci-fi movie that he liked but it always put him to sleep before he ever got to the giant sandworms. It would do.

 

He set his alarm to go off in a few hours and drifted off.

 

\--

 

Steve decided to walk to the garage to give his buzzing nerves a chance to settle down and to himself time to think about what he was going to say when he got there. Sam was right about not leading with who he really was, that he was a cop that had been sent there to spy on them and report back to people that could put Bucky and his chosen family in jeopardy. 

 

He was going to have to play it by ear, but the best place to start would probably be with an apology. He  _ was _ sorry. There was no way of knowing the reason why Bucky and crew had done the things that they’d done and, even if there was a very good reason for it, there was no guarantee that Steve would be able to protect them.

 

Because it would eventually get out. If he and Sam were able to connect the dots, it was only a matter of time before someone else did. And they wouldn’t give two shits why Bucky did it, only that he did it and had to be punished for it. He could see the garage sign down the street, the red star that he now knew matched the one on Bucky’s shoulder. 

 

He turned the corner to walk to the gate that led into the lot and the back garage. It was their personal space, their home, literally for Wanda and Pietro. He could see Bucky’s Chevelle parked in the garage but there was no sign of any of the others. It was better that they didn’t have an audience for this because he had no idea how Bucky was going to react. 

 

He didn’t see Bucky at first. He was sitting in the little ‘living room’ that they had created in one section of the garage, a cozy hangout for after they’d closed up for the night. He expected Bucky to greet him with a smile or even a kiss, so he was shocked when he looked up at him with cold eyes, like he had whenever they’d first met. “Bucky?” Bucky was holding a piece of paper in his hand and he looked at it as he began to read in a terrifyingly flat voice. 

 

“Officer Steven Grant Rogers, Brooklyn native and recent graduate of the NYPD academy, received the Medal of Honor for his selfless rescue of a woman and her two children from certain death. Officer Rogers, with no thought to his own safety, approached an overturned vehicle and pulled the victims to safety.”

 

Steve felt like someone had doused him with ice water. Numbness spread over him, freezing him in place. It took a few seconds for speech to return to him. “How?”

 

“You’re not on Facebook.” Steve blinked at Bucky, who was still looking at the piece of paper now crumpled in his hand. “You’re not on Facebook, so when Wanda tried to look you up to add you as a friend, she couldn’t find you.” He knew what Bucky was going to say. He even knew where Wanda had found that article. It was from some tiny newspaper that hardly anyone read and had been a ticking time bomb all along. His mom had framed that fucking article because she was so damn  _ proud _ of him. Bucky wasn’t finished. “So she Googled you. Because she  _ likes _ you. Because I-” Bucky threw the piece of paper on the beat up coffee table where Steve could clearly see his smiling face in his uniform. He hadn’t been on the job more than 6 months when that happened. “She trusted you.”

 

Steve could only guess what had happened next. Once Wanda had his full name there was no stopping the seemingly innocuous stream of information that could be found online. The small congratulations notice that his mom had put in that same small paper when he made detective, hell, his mom’s obituary. It was all there for someone that knew what to look for. “Bucky, I-”

 

“No.” Bucky stood and Steve instinctively took a step back. He didn’t think that Bucky would hit him but he didn’t want to put that theory to the test. He’s seen what that fist could do. “I don’t want to hear it.” He stalked a few steps away before turning and coming back, pushing into Steve’s space, their noses just inches apart. “I changed my mind. What the fuck were you doing here?”

 

This was the James Buchanan Barnes that Steve had been expecting when he’d first shown up at the garage. It was the one that he’d gotten a glimpse of when Brock Rumlow had darkened his doorstep. The soldier, the fierce protector. Steve held his ground. If he was going to face Bucky on this, he was going to do it standing tall. “Yes, I’m a cop.”

 

Bucky practically bared his teeth at him. “I know that, asshole. Why were you in my garage?” His voice was a dangerous growl, a far cry from the man who laughed in bed and gave him shy smiles. “I know that goddamn Honda was just a front.”

 

Steve sighed. “I’m working with the FBI on a case.” He met Bucky’s gaze and almost flinched at the iciness there. “Military trucks being stolen by a group of very skilled drivers in modified cars.” He tilted his head at the two cars on the far side of the garage, their covers still in place. “Those cars.”

 

Bucky took a step back. “And what? You were supposed to get close to us? Find out what we were up to?” 

 

Steve clenched his hands behind his back. Bucky was never going to forgive him for this. “Yes.”

 

“You fucking bastard.” Bucky turned away, scrubbing a hand through his hair. He moved, almost quicker than Steve could follow, and punched the metal support pole. Steve twitched back involuntarily at the harsh metallic clang that rang out. He could see the dent in the post from Bucky’s left fist. Bucky had his fists clenched at his sides and Steve felt the overwhelming urge to reach out to him, offer some comfort for this bomb he’d dropped on him, but he knew that was out of the question. 

 

Bucky laughed and it was the ugliest thing that Steve had ever heard. “So that was your play? The honeypot?” He turned and looked Steve in the eye for a split second before walking away toward the open door. The moment their eyes met Steve felt like someone had shot him right through the chest. The amount of hurt and pain he saw there was unbearable. Bucky’s voice was low now, like he was berating himself. “I’m such an idiot. I should have known.”

 

It hit Steve like a ton of bricks. “No!” He reached out his hand, wanting to touch, wanting to make it stop. “It wasn’t like that.”

 

“You can’t tell me it wasn’t.” Bucky had reached the open garage door. “You do what you need to do,  _ Rogers _ . I’ll take care of mine.” He walked out into the innocuous sunlight. “Now get the fuck out of my garage.”

 

Steve watched him go. There was nothing else he could do.


	8. Chapter 8

CHAPTER 8

 

Steve was so lost in his own head as he walked back to his apartment that he didn’t even notice the bright purple car until he was almost beside it. Clint was leaning against it, sunglasses in place, looking for all the world like he was waiting for Steve to walk by. He could keep waiting.

 

Steve shoved his hands in his pockets and kept walking. He saw Clint shake his head out of the corner of his eye. “Dude, you fucked up.”

 

Steve stopped in the middle of the sidewalk. He turned around and marched back toward Clint, ready for a fight. He would take anything that Bucky wanted to dish out, but Clint’s calm behind his sunglasses made Steve want to punch him in the face. “Don’t you think I know that?” Clint didn’t flinch when Steve got in his face, just continued leaning against his car with his arms folded. 

 

Clint snorted. “Get in.”

 

“What?” Steve wasn’t expecting that. “Why?”

 

“We need to have a chat.” He stood up, unconcerned about Steve’s anger. “And you’re going to buy me pizza.”

 

There was nothing else for Steve to do other than get in the car. 

 

\--

 

The pizza place that they pulled up to was a little hole in the wall, which usually guaranteed something good. Clint strolled in like he owned the place, waving to the man busy at the ovens and blowing a kiss to the older woman running the cash register. He led Steve to a table near the back, turning one of the chairs around to straddle it. He hooked his sunglasses on the collar of his t-shirt and folded his arms on the back of the chair. They’d ridden the entire way in silence and Steve could wait him out.

 

“So, you’re a cop.” Steve jumped at Clint’s quiet voice. “And you were sent to check us out, see if we knew anything about those trucks, right?” Steve nodded, wary now. “I’m guessing part of your assignment didn’t include getting into Bucky’s pants.” Steve looked away, breaking that suddenly piercing gaze. “That’s what I thought.” 

 

Steve finally found his voice. “I didn’t mean for things to go the way they did.” He fiddled with the fork on the table, looking back at Clint. “I swear I didn’t.”

 

Clint looked past Steve and nodded at someone behind him. A steaming hot pepperoni pizza was plunked down on the table along with two glasses of soda. “I know.” Clint picked up a slice and moved it to a plate on his side of the table. “Go ahead, dig in.”

 

Steve blinked at him. “Why are you doing this?”

 

“Because the pizza’s good?” Clint finished chewing and rolled his eyes. “Because you have in your hands the ability to destroy us and I’m hoping that you’re a good enough man to wait until you’ve heard the whole story first.” He took another bite. “Trust me, you’d rather be talking to me right now than Nat. She’d just shoot you or something.”

 

“Okay.” Steve took a piece of pizza and put it on his plate even though he really wasn’t hungry in the least. “What’s the story?”

 

“It was the arm that gave it away, wasn’t it?” Steve didn’t even have to answer before Clint was nodding. “I knew Bucky before he had it. I’ve known him for a long time.”

 

There wasn’t any point in pretending that he didn’t know anything so Steve laid it all out. “You were in the Army together.” Clint nodded and motioned for him to continue while he ate. “Bucky told me that he lost it when an escort run went south.” He poked at his own pizza. “Tony Stark, right?”

 

“Exactly.” Clint wiped his greasy fingers on a napkin. “Bucky’s unit was the one that was escorting Tony fucking Stark when they got hit. Stark got kidnapped, Bucky lost his arm and half the unit died.” His face was grim. “It was a setup.” 

 

Of course it was. And Steve knew exactly who did it. “Hydra.”

 

“Give that man a prize.” Clint picked up another piece of pizza. “You know Rumlow? The guy that kicked your ass? Well, he used to be Hydra.”

 

“That much I know.” Steve tapped his fingers on the tabletop. “And the drivers of those trucks are Hydra. What is the point of stealing from them?”

 

“You’ve heard of Robin Hood, right? Well, think of it like that. Hydra goes way up to the top, corruption galore. So we steal those rich secrets and are going to give them to the poor schmucks that Hydra’s been fooling for years.” Clint held his glass up for a refill and Steve waited until the woman walked away before replying.

 

“So, you’re trying to expose them? Take them down?” Clint pointed at him and winked. Steve sat back and crossed his arms over his chest in disbelief. “So you’re basically the good guys.”

 

Clint shrugged. “Not  _ that _ good. Goodish.” He looked up at Steve. “Bucky  _ is _ a good man. He deserves to be as happy as I’ve seen him the last few days.” Steve opened his mouth and Clint cut him off. “You fucked up when you led him on.”

 

“I wasn’t leading him on!” Steve said it louder than he meant to and got a dirty look from the woman behind the counter. “I didn’t mean for things to go that far.”

 

“So, what, you slipped and accidentally fell on his dick?” Clint waved his hand. “Sorry.” He tilted his head. “You didn’t expect to like him.”

 

Steve shook his head, leaning forward, elbows on the table. “No. I didn’t.”

 

Clint laughed. “Trust me, buddy, he didn’t expect to like you either. Bucky generally doesn’t like anyone.”

 

Steve felt a small spark of hope. “So tell me how to fix this. Tell me how I can help you get what you need to take Hydra down. Tell me how to-” he faltered. “Tell me how to get Bucky to forgive me.”

 

“Is that what you want?” Clint polished off the last slice of pizza. Steve hadn’t even touched the piece in front of him and slid the plate over to him. “You want to throw away your career to help a guy that you met just a few days ago?” He picked up Steve’s slice of pizza. “A guy that might not ever trust you again?”

 

“I have to try.” Steve sounded desperate and he hated it. “Please.”

 

Clint wiped his mouth and hands. “Fine. I’ll see what I can do.” He got up and stretched. “Just leave the money on the table when you’re ready to go. I’ve got to go pick Nat up.”

 

“You’re leaving me here?” Steve stood, pulling out his wallet and throwing two twenties on the table. “How am I supposed to get home?”

 

“I don’t know, phone a friend?” Clint walked toward the door, waving at the man and woman as he went. “You’ve left me a mess to clean up, so suck it up.” He put his sunglasses back on as he opened the door. “I’ll be in touch.” The door snapped shut and Steve sat back down. The woman looked at him and shook her head as if in disappointment. He sighed and pulled out his phone.

 

“Yeah, Sam? Can you come and pick me up?”

 

\--

 

“Do you realize how far above our paygrade this is?” Sam kept his eyes on the road and his hands on the wheel but Steve could tell that he was itching to move, to fidget, to do something besides drive him home. The look on Sam’s face when he pulled up to find Steve sitting out front had been priceless. 

 

“You don’t have to do anything. I can take care of this.” Steve clenched his jaw in preparation for the argument that he knew was coming. Sam would insist on helping now that they had an inkling that the ‘bad guys’ weren’t quite as bad as they thought. “It’s not your problem anymore.”

 

Sam glanced away from the road. “Are you kidding me right now?” He pulled the car into a parking space but didn’t get out or unlock the doors. “I can’t walk away from this. And don’t look at me like that. With your ‘this is for your own good, Sam’ face.” 

 

Steve blew out a breath. He knew wouldn’t be able to talk him out of this, and he could use the extra eyes and ears. “Fine. Can we get out now?”

 

The doors unlocked with a click and they got out. Sam walked up the stairs behind Steve, silent for the first two floors. “So, what’s the plan?”

 

Steve hesitated. He had an idea but he wasn’t sure how they were going to be able to implement it without showing their hand to Fury. “Brock Rumlow.”

 

“Rumlow.” They got to Steve’s apartment and he opened the door, standing aside to let Sam go in first. “You think he’s still involved.”

 

“He’s either still involved or he knows something. Wanda said he came on so strong because he felt like he was ‘owed’ something. A guy like that’s not going to just walk away.” Steve walked over to his desk and found the file he was looking for. “We have his address and all the info on his car. Feel like a stake out?”

 

“Hold on a minute.” Sam was always the voice of reason even when Steve was ready to go running off headlong into danger. “Why aren’t we waiting for Clint to contact you?”

 

“How long do you think Fury’s going to wait?” Steve typed the address into the GPS on his phone. “You know as well as I do, he’s going to start asking questions soon. And what are we going to tell him?”

 

“That you should never, ever do undercover work again?” Sam shook his head. “I was going to tell him that anyway, you just keep proving me right over and over again.” 

 

Steve wasn’t paying attention to anything but his phone. “Yeah. Whatever. This is weird.” He showed the screen to Sam. “That’s not a residential address. That’s out by the docks.” 

 

“What are you thinking?” 

 

“Where are the trucks coming from?” Steve opened his laptop and woke it up, tapping on the desk impatiently as it came back to life. “They’re military but they’re not originating at a military base.”

 

“That’s not all that unusual. The military gets stuff transported from all over.” Sam looked over Steve’s shoulder as he brought up the case files. “Did they have any paperwork or anything? I mean, they wouldn’t be dumb enough to contact the FBI if they were transporting illegal shit, right?”

 

“They might.” Steve’s face was grim. “If what they were carrying was legit and they just added some extra stuff on the way.” 

 

“I see where you’re going with this. Pick up and drop off all matches the manifests. It’s what they do in the middle that is suspect.” Sam pointed at the screen. “Pull up the travel logs. They’re pretty strict about accuracy on that kind of thing and it’s not the drivers that log it. If it was only off by a little bit, it might not have been caught.”

 

“Or they paid someone off.” Steve pulled up the log. He could hear Sam tapping on his phone behind him. “You’re checking Google maps aren’t you.”

 

“Yep.” Sam shoved the phone in Steve’s face. “They’re off. Not by much but they’re off by a few miles each time.”

 

“Look at where Rumlow’s address lines up with them. It’s right in the middle of the ones that got hit.” Steve looked at the little flashing dot. “We’re going to have to go and check it out. Now do you agree on the stake out?” 

 

Sam looked between his phone and the computer screen, biting his lip. “Okay, fine. You know we’re going to have to at least attempt to do this right if you’re going to have any chance of making a case for your boy and his crew, right?”

 

“He’s not my boy.” Steve sighed. “But I want to try and make it right.” 

 

Sam clapped him on the shoulder. “I know you do.” He picked up his keys and twirled them around his finger. “Ready for some recon?”

 

\--

 

It was late in the day and Steve had been bored out of his mind watching the warehouse when Clint finally contacted him. They had seen Brock Rumlow come and go a few times but they hadn’t been able to get close enough to get a peek inside. Steve had talked about trying to go and see but Sam had put a stop to that.

 

**Garage. 9pm. No promises.**

 

Steve clutched his phone, staring at it until Sam plucked it from his hand to read the message himself. He looked at Steve’s face and shook his head. “Don’t get your hopes up, man.”

 

“I’m not.” Sam snorted and Steve gave him a hard look. “Sam, I’m not.”

 

“Whatever. I  _ know _ you.” Sam cranked the car and started to ease out into the street. “You want me to come with you or can you manage this on your own without getting maimed or killed?”

 

Steve sighed. “I should go on my own.”

 

“Don’t want me to meet your guy. I’m hurt.” Sam gave Steve a wide smile that was met with a scowl. “Aw. Look at that face.” He sobered. “Seriously. If you want me to stay close, I will.”

 

“They’re not going to hurt me.” Steve leaned his head back against the headrest. “What am I going to do, Sam?”

 

“Hear them out and don’t do anything stupid?” He pulled into the space next to Steve’s Challenger. “Who am I kidding? This is you we’re talking about.” Sam moved the gearshift to Park. “Just try to be careful, alright?”

 

“I’ll do my best.” Steve got out and leaned in the window when Sam rolled it down. “I’ll be in touch.”

 

Sam gave him a long look. “I’ll be waiting by the phone.”

 

\--

 

Steve pulled into the lot between the two garages and rolled to a stop next to Clint’s bright purple monstrosity. He could see into the garage where Bucky and Clint were obviously in the middle of a heated argument. Bucky’s head whipped toward Steve when he got out of the car and Steve heard him shout, “Fucking great!” Bucky threw his hands up in the air and stalked to the other end of the garage next to the covered Chargers. 

 

Steve had slowed when he heard Bucky shout, making his way to the large open rollup door. Clint saw him and raised his hand in greeting. Wanda and Natasha were seated on the couch but they both rose and turned to see who Clint was waving to. They both reacted very differently. Wanda curled in upon herself, wrapping her arm around her waist as if to hold herself together. She wouldn’t meet his eyes and it made him want to hug her, tell her it wasn’t her fault. 

 

Natasha on the other hand, didn’t hesitate. She strode toward him, eyes flashing in a way that had him backing up until his back was against the wall next to the door. She only came up to his chin but it was her sheer presence that sent him staggering back. He was sure that she was going to hit him, but she didn’t. She pushed up into his space until they were almost touching, scant inches between them. 

 

“You lied to us.” Her voice was a low growl, slightly accented in her anger. “You came in and played the friend and fooled us all.” Steve held her gaze but flinched at her next words. They came out as almost a whisper. “You  _ hurt _ him.” 

 

Steve’s voice was equally low. “I know I did. I’m sorry.” Natasha’s eyes flicked to where Bucky was pacing like a caged animal, throwing glances their way. Steve wet his lips nervously and plunged ahead. “Clint told me why you’re,” he hazarded a meaningful look at the covered cars, “doing what you’re doing and I understand. I want to help.” 

 

Natasha shifted back, not far, still close enough to keep herself between him and Bucky. He hadn’t missed that. “How the hell can you help us?” 

 

“I’m part of a team that’s trying to figure out who is hitting the trucks.” He gestured toward the covered cars. “I know the answer to that question now.” Steve talked quickly, forging on before she could interrupt him. “I also know why you’re doing it. And I want to help you get the information to the right people. I want to help you prove your case.”

 

A loud undignified snort came from Bucky’s direction but all Natasha did was hold up her hand, eyes still on Steve. “Who would you give it to?”

 

Some of the tension went out of Steve’s body. She was going to listen to him. “I’m a detective with NYPD, but this case is big. FBI big. They only called me in because of my past.”

 

“Your past?” That came from Bucky. He stalked closer to them, hands clenching at his side. “What about your past has anything to do with this?”

 

“Used to help boost cars when I was younger.” Steve’s chin came up and he made himself meet Bucky’s eyes. “When I was a teenager. Never did anything when I was old enough to make it stick and I got out of it before I graduated high school.”

 

“How the hell did you go from boosting cars to NYPD?”

 

Steve looked away, a grim smile on his face. He couldn’t lie about this, everything had to be out on the table. “My mom.” He took a deep breath and made himself look at Bucky. He needed to tell him this. “I hurt her with all the shit I used to get up to. Finally grew a conscience, then grew about six inches. I’d screwed up my chances for any kind of help with school so it was either the police or the military.” Bucky’s eyes widened slightly but that was his only reaction. “I chose the police. Flew through academy.” Steve leaned against the wall behind him, head back. “She was so fucking proud.”

 

He heard Bucky’s steps on the concrete as they drew nearer and dropped his head to watch his approach. He was wearing a black v-neck tee, arm on display for anyone that wanted to look. His hair had come loose from its ponytail and it framed his face. He looked dangerous and beautiful and Steve breath caught in his throat. Bucky looked at Natasha and seemed to have a silent conversation that Steve couldn’t follow. Natasha finally nodded and backed away to lean against the arm of the couch, arms folded. Bucky pushed his hair back from his face roughly and put it back into its hair tie with quick jerky movements before pacing away, hands laced behind his neck.

 

He was warring with himself. Wanda took a step like she wanted to go to him but Natasha put a hand on her arm to stop her. Steve could only watch as he paced and tried not to let himself remember what they’d had the night before. It was foolish to even try. He knew what that body felt like against his, knew the smile that had lit him up from the inside. He pushed that out of his mind when Bucky approached him, face set and determined.

 

“Fine.” Steve jerked in surprise. Bucky didn’t invade his space as Natasha did, stopping within a few feet of him. “We get the shit together and you do your thing. Keep Wanda and Pietro out of it.” He looked at Natasha and her eyes widened. “Keep Nat and Clint out of it, too. All of it’s on me.” Natasha started to protest and Bucky talked over her, voice loud and firm. “On me, do you hear me,” his voice faltered, just a bit, “ _ Rogers _ ?”

 

“I hear you.” Steve would let Bucky take the entire fall over his dead body but that wasn’t an argument for now. “I’ll make sure.”

 

“You do that.” Bucky closed the distance between them, not standing close enough to touch but Steve imagined that he could feel the heat of his body from there. “But this,” he gestured between their bodies, “this is over. You do what you need to do and then I never see you again.” 

 

Steve swallowed hard. He had to say it. One more time. “I’m sorry.” His voice broke and he cleared his throat. “I’m so fucking sorry.” It might have been wishful thinking but he saw a flash of sadness and regret cross Bucky’s face before it changed to cold determination again. He turned toward the other end of the garage, done with the conversation.

 

Steve needed to get out of there. 

 

“I’ll, um, I’ll wait for your call then.” He made eye contact with Natasha, avoiding Bucky at all costs. “Anytime, alright?” She nodded and he turned away from the tears he saw sliding down Wanda’s face, away from Bucky’s restless pacing. Away from these people that could have been friends or family or more. He’d have to make his peace with what he couldn’t have and concentrate on what he could do for them when the time came. 


	9. Chapter 9

CHAPTER 9

 

They decided, in the end, to keep Rumlow’s warehouse under surveillance. After installing a few small cameras they could take turns monitoring the comings and goings, though so far it hadn’t seemed very exciting. He hadn’t heard from Natasha or Clint since that last day in the garage. And of course, there was nothing from Bucky. He toyed with the idea of checking in with Wanda but decided that would be cruel. He didn’t want to put her in the middle. 

 

Which is why he was surprised when his phone started to ring late one evening about a week after the confrontation. He wasn’t asleep, having given up on a regular sleep schedule with the surveillance, and being unable to simply turn his brain off long enough to get more than a few hours.

 

He glanced at the screen and his heart leapt up into his throat. “Wanda?”

 

“Steve.” He stood without thinking from the fear in her voice. “They’re doing it again. They argued about it for days but Bucky-” She took in a deep shaky breath. “It’s all wrong. They’re going to get hurt.”

 

Steve put the phone on speaker, throwing it on the bed so that he could get dressed. “Where are they?”

 

“It was supposed to be the same place as the last one but it got changed at the last minute.” She sounded calmer, now that she was talking to someone that she hoped could help. “It was weird.”

 

“Weird. How?” His voice was muffled as he pulled on a t-shirt and he snatched up the phone, moving on autopilot to pull on sneakers and grab his wallet. He snagged the keys to the Mustang without thinking, knowing that he had to get where he was going in the fastest way possible. 

 

“The route changed. They never change the route once it’s set so that they don’t draw attention to what they’re smuggling.” Steve heard murmuring in the background that had to be Pietro. “Pietro is going to send you the information.” His phone pinged and he read the coordinates carefully. It was farther out than they’d ever gone before. What was Bucky thinking?  _ He was thinking that it would help him get rid of you faster. _

 

“This is all my fault.” Steve whispered it, the mantra that had haunted his last week. “I’m sorry, Wanda.” 

 

“You don’t make decisions for him. This is all on him.” Wanda sounded resigned, as if she’d watched this argument and subsequent bad idea come on like an oncoming storm. Unstoppable. 

 

There was one more thing that he had to do, something that he hadn’t had to do since starting this assignment. He opened the safe in the closet, pulling out his service pistol in its holster. He hoped like hell that he wouldn’t need it, but he couldn’t take any chances. He locked the front door, holding the phone to his ear before racing down the stairs. “I’m going to call my partner and then call you back.” He was out on the sidewalk and walking toward where the car was kept when he got Sam on the phone.

 

“Steve? What’s wrong?” Sam’s voice was tight and alert. Steve could tell that he knew a phone call at this time couldn’t be a good thing after the week they’d had.

 

“Do you have eyes on the warehouse?” The gun went on the passenger seat and the phone went into the holder as he flicked it on speaker phone. “They’re pulling another hit tonight.”

 

“Tonight?” It sounded like Sam dropped the phone and then his voice came back clearer. “Shit.”

 

“What? What did you see?” The Mustang came to life with a roar, and he left the garage with a bark of tires that he would usually be far more careful about at that time of night. 

 

“More guys than just the driver. And they were armed.” Sam made a frustrated noise. “I didn’t think anything of it. It looked like they just had a small case. I saw it when they loaded up.” They’d managed to get a camera in the corner of a window to see inside the warehouse, but up until now there had been nothing. “God, I had no idea.”

 

“It’s a trap.” 

 

“A trap?”

 

“For Bucky. It’s a trap. They have to know what they’re doing.” 

 

“What are  _ you _ doing?”

 

“I’m going to stop them.” Steve made himself take a deep breath. He felt the calm that always came with an emergency flow through him. It was what made him good at his job. 

 

“Steve.” Sam’s voice was far calmer than it should be. This was what  _ he _ did. He was the voice of reason. “None of that white knight bullshit. We can have the backing of the FBI with one phone call.”

 

“Then call.” Steve darted through cars as soon as he hit the highway. It was late enough so that traffic wasn’t terrible, but he couldn’t wait. “I’ll just scope out the situation.”

 

Sam’s laugh was harsh. “You’re going to get your dumb ass killed, is what you’re going to do.”

 

“It’s my fault. He wouldn’t have moved this quickly if it wasn’t for me.” Steve shifted gears. “I can’t stand back and wait for the cavalry.”

 

“Fuck. I’ll call you back.” Steve could almost see Sam pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration. “Be careful.”

 

“I’ll try.” 

 

\--

 

Steve’s next call was to Wanda, who was far more panicked than the last time he talked to her. The first words out of her mouth when she answered were, “None of them are answering! I’ve tried and tried and they’re not picking up!”

 

“Take a deep breath.” Steve could hear her panting breaths over the speaker and worried she was starting to hyperventilate. “In and out. Is Pietro there?”

 

“Y-yes.” 

 

“Put him on.” Steve waited for her to pass over the phone. “Pietro. I need you to call someone. Sam Wilson. He’s my partner and he’s trying to get some help sent out in case I can’t stop this. He’s also my friend.”

 

“He’s a cop?” The distrust was heavy in Pietro’s voice. 

 

“Kind of. He’s FBI.” Pietro sucked in a breath and Steve shook his head. “We don’t have time. You want to help them, right?”

 

“Of course.” 

 

“Then take down this number.” Steve rattled off Sam’s number and made Pietro repeat it back. “I don’t know why they’re not answering, but there has to be a reason.”

 

Pietro blew out a breath. “They usually go quiet when they’re in mission mode. Wanda is just worried.”

 

“She should be. Call Sam.” He hung up and turned his attention back to the road. It would take him at least half an hour, even at speed, to get there. There was no way that Sam was going to be able to convince Fury in that time to rally the troops. It was going to be up to him. 

 

If they even needed help. 

 

He might be riding to the rescue in vain, and the only casualty would be his dignity. He could only imagine the cold look on Bucky’s face when Steve showed up. He tightened his hands on the wheel and gritted his teeth. 

 

Maybe he should just leave them to it. 

 

The mere thought made his chest ache. There was no way he could turn back now; he was in too deep. Plus the fact that he’d given Sam the go ahead to involve Fury. He’d need to be on scene in person to weather that storm. It was going to signal the end of his career, and possibly land him in jail. 

 

He hoped it was worth it.

 

\--

 

Steve saw them from far enough away that he thought he might be able to stop them before they got to the truck. He dialed Bucky’s number himself, but there was no answer. That wasn’t surprising. Natasha probably wouldn’t talk to him either, so he tried Clint instead. He was surprised when he actually picked up.

 

“Yeah.” Clint’s voice was flat and Steve could hear road noise in the background.

 

“It’s a trap.” Steve could see the small figures of the Chargers getting closer to the truck and he needed to talk fast. “You can’t hit it, it’s a trap.”

 

There was silence for a few moments. “There’s a case. It’s got all the data files on it. It’s what we need. There’s no other way.”

 

“And they know that! They’re armed and waiting for you.” Silence again as Clint mulled this over. Steve chewed on his lip to keep from screaming at him.

 

“Let me call Nat.” There was a click as he hung up and Steve slammed his hand on the dash. Too slow. They were moving too slow and too fast all at the same time. The two black cars were almost to the truck. He downshifted and stomped on the gas, the car leaping forward to eat up the distance separating them. He had to get there.

 

Steve watched them get into that familiar formation and his stomach dropped. “Shit!” He hit Sam’s number. “Tell me something good, Sam.”

 

“Fury’s on board. He is  _ not _ happy, but he’s on board.”

 

“I don’t give a fuck. They’re about to hit the truck. I tried to warn them, but they’re too concerned with getting the data that’s on board.” He was drawing closer, but it wasn’t enough.

 

“The case.”

 

Steve nodded even though Sam couldn’t see him. “The case.” He hesitated. “Look, Sam. If this goes south…”

 

“No. Nope. No. Do not talk like that.” 

 

“These guys are armed and dangerous. Nothing like the milk runs they’ve done before.”

 

“Then stop. Wait for backup.”

 

“I can’t.”

 

“You  _ can _ but you won’t.” Steve heard more background noise and realized that Sam had to be with Fury’s team. “We’re on our way. Be there in ten.”

 

Steve was almost on top of them when he saw the two men climb out the back, assault rifles strapped to their backs. They weren’t playing around. “Gotta go.” He heard Sam’s shout of “Steve!” before he hung up. There was nothing left but the wind from the open windows and the sound of his heart beating in his ears. He swung around the truck, craning his neck to try and watch the men’s progress as they settled on the roof. 

 

He pulled up next to the passenger side of the lead car, not sure if he was going to find Clint or Natasha and Bucky. He took a deep breath and swerved toward them, careful not to get too close. On cue, the window rolled down and revealed Bucky’s furious face. Natasha drove and Bucky took care of the acrobatics. Clint drove back up. It made sense. They were all good at what they did. 

 

“What the fuck are you doing here?” It was an echo of their conversation at the garage and Steve faltered for a second. 

 

Steve kept his eye on the truck, trying to keep enough distance so that he could see the roof in the rearview mirror. “They’re on top of the truck!” Steve had to shout to be heard and multitasking at this rate of speed while keeping an eye on the truck was taxing. He just wanted them to fucking listen to him and peel off, let the authorities take care of this. 

 

It was too late. A shot rang out and the back glass of Bucky and Natasha’s car shattered. “Shit!” Bucky ducked down in his seat and they swerved farther away from Steve’s car before bringing it back in. 

 

Steve was desperate. He met Bucky’s eyes and there was something else there. Something that told him that this wasn’t as over as he thought. “Go on!” Steve nudged closer to their car, pushing them farther away from the truck. “Get out of here!”

 

Bucky’s wide eyes were all he could see. “No!” They all ducked when another shot rang out, Steve’s back glass a casualty this time. “Steve, no! Not without you!” To Steve’s horror, he saw Bucky start to lean out the window, gun in hand. He swerved toward them again as Bucky pulled the trigger and a headlight winked out on the truck. 

 

He had to stop the truck. They weren’t going to last much longer like this. Steve dropped back far enough to line up with the back corner. The truck was a lot bigger than his car but it was the only thing he could think to do. The driver saw him and slammed on his brakes, putting him out of alignment. Steve gritted his teeth and tried again. He thought,  _ I’m sorry, Mom _ before jerking the wheel and wedging the front corner of the Mustang against the truck. 

 

It worked at first, the truck starting to slide sideways. But it was top heavy and the driver panicked and overcorrected, sending it into a spin that sent the gunmen flying off the roof. Steve saw them hit the ground and roll, but they weren’t his concern. He’d just turned the truck into a battering ram and pointed it right at himself. He jerked the wheel but felt the crumpled fender catch on the tire, the car starting to spin. He steered into it but it caught, the wheel locking up and then the tire blowing under the strain. The truck was tipping and Steve closed his eyes when he felt the Mustang leave the road.

 

\--

 

Steve was upside down, hanging from the seatbelt, and his left leg was on fire. He felt something warm run into his eyes and he managed to lift a hand to wipe at it, blinking at the red on his fingertips. Everything hurt.

 

“Steve!” Someone was shouting his name. He drew in a breath to answer and almost passed out from the pain. Broken ribs. Possibly a punctured lung. “Steve!”

 

He caught a flash of silver, and the door was wrenched open. Bucky was crouched beside the open door and he looked terrified. Steve’s head was swimming, but he tried to smile. It was Bucky and he was scared. Steve didn’t want him to be scared. “Hi.”

 

Bucky gave a weak laugh that sounded suspiciously wet. “Hey, Stevie.” Steve could feel gentle fingers on his face and he closed his eyes. “Nope. Hey. Stay awake.” 

 

“‘M awake.” Steve opened his eyes to see Bucky backlit by the highway lights. “Are you okay?”

 

Bucky laughed that awful laugh again. “Yeah, I’m fine. You’re going to be fine, alright?”

 

“‘Course I am. You’re here.” Steve drew in a sharp breath and gasped in pain. He managed to grit out, “The truck?”

 

“You wrecked it good. Wrecked yourself, too.” The gentle fingers were back and they made Steve want to weep. He could hear sirens in the distance. 

 

“You have to go.” Steve caught Bucky’s hand in his. “You have to get out of here. I don’t know-”

 

Bucky gripped his hand tight. “I’m not going anywhere. They’re going to have to pry me away.”

 

There was shuffling behind Bucky and Steve could just see Natasha past him. “You’re a moron, Rogers. We had this handled.”

 

“No, we didn’t.” That was from Bucky. “I was wrong.” That was the last thing Steve remembered before blue and red lights washed over them, the sound of sirens loud in his ears. “Steve? Steve!” Bucky’s voice sounded miles away and then there was only darkness.

 

\--

 

When Steve cracked his eyes open, bright white assaulted them, sending a spike of pain through his head. He let out an involuntary groan, closing them back tight again. He could hear someone moving around but he couldn’t concentrate on anything past the feeling that his head was about to pop off. 

 

“Steve?”

 

He flinched away from the sound, groaning again when the movement jarred all of his other hurts. Steve opened his eyes again, slitting them against the light to take a look at where he was. Someone had dimmed the lights, thank god, but he recognized all the sights and sounds of a hospital room. He carefully rolled his head to the right to see the monitors, their numbers blurring, attached to tubes that snaked down to his body. He hoped one of them was morphine. Passing out again would be nice. 

 

A chair scraped to his right and he had to breathe for a second or two before turning that way. It was Bucky. Steve opened his mouth but couldn’t speak; his tongue felt like it was three times too big. He blinked and a straw was offered to him. The water was cool and the best thing he’d ever drank in his life. He tried not to gulp it down, only getting a few sips before it was taken away.

 

“Not too much. Go slow.” Steve closed his eyes at the sound of Bucky’s voice. He was there, actually there. Steve cleared his throat and squinted at him.

 

“Hey.” 

 

Bucky gave him a small, sad smile. “Hey, yourself.”

 

“What happened?”

 

“You don’t remember?” Bucky made an aborted motion toward Steve’s head, like he wanted to smooth his hand over it to make sure it was in one piece. “You trashed your car.”

 

Steve closed his eyes and let the memories wash over him. He remembered hanging upside down and pain and Bucky’s terrified face. “You were there.”

 

“Yeah,” Bucky’s voice was soft. “You scared the hell out of me.”

 

“I’m good at that. Just ask Sam.” Steve tried to smile but it turned into a grimace when he moved the wrong way. “ _ Christ _ .”

 

“Hurts?” Steve nodded and Bucky pushed the button for more painkiller. “Try to relax. I’ll go get the nurse.”

 

“Wait.” The haze of the drugs made his eyes droop but it was very important that he tell Bucky something. “Bucky?”

 

“I’m right here.” Steve felt a hand smooth his hair back and his eyes closed.

 

“Buck. Bucky. I’m sorry.” His tongue was thick and he could feel sleep taking over. Steve felt lips on his forehead and tried to drag his eyes back open. 

 

He thought he heard Bucky say, “We’ll talk about it later,” and then there was only darkness.

 


	10. Chapter 10

CHAPTER 10

 

The next time Steve woke up, it was to considerably less pain in his head. He must still have plenty of drugs in his system because everything was down to a dull roar at the moment. Sam was there this time, instead of Bucky, and he felt a pang of disappointment run through him.

 

“Hey, there!” Sam’s bright smile made him feel guilty. Steve tried to return it, but he must not have succeeded because Sam’s concerned face returned in full force. “How are you feeling?”

 

“Like I got hit by a truck.” Sam snorted and Steve’s smile came easier this time. “What did I do to myself?”

 

“Slight concussion, cracked ribs and a fractured ankle.” Steve sucked in a breath and Sam was quick to continue. “No surgery but you’ll have a very stylish boot when the swelling goes down a bit.” 

 

“Crutches?” Sam nodded and Steve groaned. Crutches were going to be a bitch with cracked ribs. “Great.” 

 

“Don’t even. It could have been so much worse.” Sam leaned forward. “You scared the hell out of me.”

 

“That’s what Bucky said, too.” Steve laid his head back down on the pillow. He suddenly realized that he had no idea what was going on with anything case-related. “What happened with Fury? Is Bucky okay? Natasha? Clint?”

 

Sam held up a hand. “Calm down. I told you that I talked to Fury.” He shook his head. “That man is more than just FBI. I don’t know what else he is, but there’s something spooky going on.”

 

“Spooky, how?”

 

“I gave him everything. I mean, what else was I going to do, right? And he made it all go away. Poof.” Sam mimed crumpling up a piece of paper and throwing it over his shoulder. “It’s like it never happened.”

 

“What?” Steve’s head was starting to hurt. “What does that even mean?”

 

“It means,” Sam leaned back in his chair, “that your boy and his crew were very lucky to have Steven Grant Rogers on the case.” 

 

“Yeah. Real lucky.” Steve wanted to go back to sleep. Push the magic drugs button and let oblivion take him over again. “I’m glad it worked out for them.”

 

“I met Bucky, you know.” Sam’s face was as unreadable as Sam’s face ever got. Steve couldn’t tell if it was disappointment or what that was there.

 

Steve cleared his throat and Sam handed over the glass of water with the straw sticking out of it. He took a sip and tried again. “You did?”

 

“Not nearly as scary as his mug shot. Kind of a looker, if you’re into that kind of thing.” Sam watched Steve carefully. “Almost got arrested before I got there and talked the paramedics into letting him come with you. Told them he was your boyfriend.”

 

Steve almost choked on his water and gasped at the pain in his ribs. “What?”

 

“Shit.” Sam was at his side in a second. “Sorry. Try to stay still.” He took the water glass away from Steve and set it back on the little table. “It was either that or handcuffs, and something tells me that wouldn’t have gone over very well.”

 

Steve was having trouble processing this bit of information. “Did he say anything else?”

 

Sam laughed and patted his arm. “Oh no. This is not high school and I am not passing notes. You two need to talk like grown men and figure your shit out.” He sat back down in the chair now that he was sure that Steve wasn’t going to hurt himself again. “You’ll have plenty of time. You’re on medical leave for at least eight weeks while they figure out what to do with you.”

 

“I’m not fired?” Steve had assumed that he’d be out on his ass.

 

“Not yet.” Sam glanced at the door. “The only reason Phillips and Fury haven’t been in your face yet is because they’re scared of the nurses.” He lowered his voice. “Your boy Barnes made an impression. I heard more than one of them talking about ‘that nice boy with the ponytail’.” He shrugged. “I don’t what he did but you couldn’t be more under guard than if you were in the prison wing.” 

 

What Sam just said hit him. “Eight weeks?”

 

“Yes.” Sam folded his arms over his chest, face stern. “And you are going to listen to everything the doctors say or I’m flying my mom out here to make you.”

 

Steve blanched. Mrs. Wilson loved him, but she was a force to be reckoned with. “I’ll be good.” Sam raised an eyebrow. “Promise.”

 

“Oh, really? How bad you hurting right now?” Steve shrugged and winced. “That’s what I thought. Hit the button.”

 

“I don’t-”

 

“Hit. The. Button.” Sam nodded toward the button and narrowed his eyes. “I have her on speed dial.”

 

Steve hit the button.

 

\--

 

“Careful!” 

 

“I am being careful!”

 

“Will you just-” 

 

“Oh my god, you-”

 

The door to Steve’s apartment flew open with enough force that it bounced off the wall. Steve staggered in, determined but wobbly on his crutches as Sam followed behind, arms out to catch him. Steve was ready to brain him with a crutch if he didn’t back off. He hated every part of this. His head felt much better, but between the ankle and not being able to breathe like a normal person he had had enough. 

 

And it had only been two days. 

 

Steve collapsed onto the couch, crutches falling to the floor with a clatter. He didn’t give a shit where they landed, he’d set them on fire if he could. He laid his head back with a sigh only to pick it back up when he heard the coffee table scrape across the floor. These injuries were either going to cement his friendship with Sam for life or they were going to kill each other. 

 

He felt a slight twinge of guilt for being such a bad patient when Sam had done everything he could to help, but he still felt the urge to kick his feet like a toddler. If it wouldn’t have hurt so much he just might have. He’d avoided a cast, but his left leg was still encased in a plastic and velcro monstrosity from the knee down. 

 

Instead of throwing something, Steve allowed Sam to help him ease his leg onto a cushion on top of the coffee table. It was the only option, unless he wanted to sprawl out on the couch and take a nap, which honestly sounded like a fine idea after the journey to get him into the apartment. 

 

But then Sam would feel like he needed to stay and continue his mother hen routine. Steve just wanted to be alone. He hadn’t been truly alone since the wreck and it was grating on his nerves. Plus, the sooner he got rid of Sam, the sooner he could start cutting back on the pain pills. He’d been doped up to the gills the past few days and it would be easy to lose himself in the haziness of a pain-free existence. He’d rather have his head clear. It pushed things to the forefront that he needed to deal with.

 

Like the fact that he hadn’t seen or heard from Bucky since that first day. To be fair, Steve’s phone had been a casualty of the accident, and Sam had promised to go and pick him up one from the store after helping him order it online. So technically there had been no way for Bucky to contact him. That didn’t stop him from coming by the hospital though. The only thing that made sense was that Bucky had decided not to forgive Steve and was making a clean break. 

 

That was something that Steve had druggedly babbled on about at length to Sam just the night before, and he was still embarrassed about it. There might have been tears. It had been humiliating when he’d woken up that morning and remembered what he’d said. To Sam’s credit, he hadn’t said a word about it, even though Steve was fairly certain he’d sounded like a mopey teenager. 

 

“You want anything before I head out?” Sam’s voice dragged him from his thoughts. He snapped his fingers in Steve’s face. “Earth to Rogers. You need anything?” Steve shook his head and couldn’t help a wry smile as Sam fussed with leaning his crutches so that he could reach them easily. “I’ll be back in a little bit.” 

 

The door had barely closed before Steve was up and about. He grunted in pain as he immediately banged his ankle against the corner of the couch, but he managed to get the crutches and lever himself up without winding up in a heap on the floor for Sam to find. His bag was sitting on his desk, full of dirty clothes that Sam had gotten for him. It also contained his gun, which had been retrieved from the poor wrecked Mustang. A pang shot through him that had nothing to do with injury and everything to do with a sense of loss. The Boss had been his mom’s car, and he’d just thrown it away for nothing.

 

Not for nothing. Everyone was fine. Well, except for the bad guys. They hadn’t been fine at all, what with him turning their truck over on him. Kind of. And from what Sam told him, they wouldn’t be bothering anyone else for a long, long time. 

 

He hobbled over to the closet and secured the gun back in its safe. He wasn’t even sure why he’d thought to bring it, instinct maybe, but at least he hadn’t had to use it. And he’d prevented Bucky from doing more damage than he needed to. So, maybe he hadn’t gone about things the correct way but, dammit, he’d done the best he could. He’d lied and done things that he shouldn’t have but, in the end, everyone was alive, and the bad guys were in whatever passed for jail in Director Fury’s scary world. So, really, Bucky should just get over himself. Right?

 

Steve blew out a breath before stumping back over to the couch. It was the same argument that he’d had with himself over and over. It had started when he walked into the garage, so excited to see Bucky, and Bucky had slapped him in the face with that goddamn article. He went back and forth between being mad at himself and mad at Bucky and even mad at Sam for dragging him into this whole mess. Then he felt bad, because if it hadn’t been for Sam then he wouldn’t have met Bucky or any of the others at all, and then the cycle started again.

 

He really was a disaster of a human being. 

 

He’d just settled down on the couch, propping his foot back up, when there was a knock on the door. That was odd. He knew for a fact that Sam had taken his keys so that Steve wouldn't have to get up to let him in. It took him a few seconds to get back up and before he could reach the door, there was another knock.

 

“Coming! Hold on.” Steve knocked into the corner of the desk and swore viciously. He was panting by the time he actually got to the door and threw it open, almost falling over in the process. Sam was right, he was a menace.

 

“Sorry. I-” Steve’s words caught in his throat and he leaned heavily on the door frame. Bucky stared back at him, looking a little startled by his dramatics. “Um.” 

 

“Should you even be up?” That put Steve’s back up. Sam’s coddling he could deal with, it was  _ Sam _ , but Bucky had just disappeared without a word. He’d given up his right to hover. 

 

“How else was I going to answer the door?” Bucky blinked at him and Steve immediately felt bad for snapping at him. “Sorry.”

 

They were staring at each other. Steve felt like  a complete asshole who didn’t know how to be a person right now. He was going to blame the painkillers that Sam kept harping at him to take. Finally, Bucky smiled and said, “Can I come in or what?”

 

Steve jerked and almost fell over again, causing Bucky to put out a hand to steady him. He gripped Steve’s shoulder until he got his balance and then let go suddenly, as if he’d just realized that he’d reached out. Steve carefully backed out the way so that Bucky wouldn’t have to touch him again and nodded toward the living room, trying for casual. “Sure. Come on in.”

 

Bucky lead the way and stood in the middle of the living room, as if he was unsure of why he was there.  _ Join the club _ , Steve thought. Bucky turned and looked at him. “Nice place.”

 

“Thanks.” A beat. “How’d you know where I live?” 

 

“Sam.” Bucky shrugged. “We traded numbers at the hospital and he told me that you were coming home today. I saw him on his way out and he let me in. Thought I’d stop by to see how you were doing.”

 

Steve didn’t know how to respond to that. On one hand, Bucky was concerned about him and that was hopeful. Maybe. On the other hand, fucking Sam Wilson was in big trouble. But now Steve’s short journey to the door and back was taking its toll and he really wanted to sit down. “Um, can we?” He gestured toward the couch and Bucky moved out of the way. This whole thing was so awkward and he was exhausted. He wanted to be blunt and ask him why he was really there, but it was just too much to deal with at the moment.

 

Bucky started to reach for him again and Steve purposefully moved over, acting like he didn’t notice. He eased himself back down to where he’d been sitting and hauled his booted foot up on the table. Everything hurt. He waved a hand at the armchair for Bucky to sit so that he didn’t have to keep looking up at him, and waited. He’d felt his eyelids start to droop when Bucky started to talk.

 

“I just wanted to say, um,” Bucky fidgeted in his seat and it made Steve notice that, though he was wearing a flannel over his t-shirt, he’d foregone the glove. Bucky sighed. “Thank you. You didn’t have to do what you did.”

 

“There’s no reason to thank me.” 

 

“You got hurt. For us.” Bucky’s gaze was so intense that Steve was having a hard time meeting his eyes. 

 

“I lied to you. To all of you. It was the least I could do.” 

 

“You wrecked your mom’s car.” Steve flinched at Bucky’s words. He was well aware of what he’d done, but he hadn’t actually asked about what happened to the car. He had no idea how badly it was damaged or where it was. He started to open his mouth and Bucky answered for him. “I had it brought to the garage.” He shrugged. “It was the least I could do.”

 

It was that tiny bit of kindness that brought everything to a head. The combination of exhaustion and being half loopy from a steady supply of painkillers finally pushed Steve over the edge. He felt the tear roll down his cheek and scrubbed it away, hoping that Bucky didn’t see. But one tear was followed by another and all he could do was cover his face and pray for Bucky to leave him alone to his humiliation.

 

“Steve?” Shit. “Are you okay?”

 

“I’m fine.” He wasn’t fine. Nothing was fine. Something soft nudged his hand and he took it away from his face to realize that Bucky had gotten some tissues from the box on the desk. “Thanks.” He knew his face was splotchy because that was what always happened when he cried. “Sorry.”

 

“Stop that.” Steve looked up to see Bucky pacing back and forth on the other side of the coffee table. He got as far as “Wh-” when Bucky came around the table and sat next to him. Steve froze, not sure what was going on. Bucky blew out a breath. “Stop saying you’re sorry.”

 

“But-”

 

“I’m still pissed.” Bucky picked at the cuff of his shirt, looking at it instead of at Steve. “You lied. There’s no getting around that.” He looked up then, grey eyes piercing. “And I don’t know if I would have handled things differently if you’d had the balls to be upfront with me after-” he stopped there. 

 

_ After that night together _ , Steve finished for him. He sank more into the cushions, steeling himself for whatever Bucky was going to say next.

 

“But,” Bucky hesitated, “I want to try being friends again. See where that goes.”

 

Friends. Steve clutched his soggy tissues in his hand. Friends was more than he’d hoped. “Okay?”

 

Bucky nodded to himself. “Yeah. Okay.” Of course, that was when Sam came back, plastic bag containing Steve’s new phone in hand.

 

“Steve? Oh.” His eyes flicked back and forth between the two men, taking in Steve’s splotchy face. Steve could tell that Sam was about to go into protective mode and hurried to stop him.

 

“It’s fine. I just, um, got a little- Fuck it. I’m tired, I’m drugged and it’s been a bad few days.” He tilted his head at Bucky, who was still sitting next to him on the couch. “Not his fault, so don’t go getting like you get.”

 

Sam narrowed his eyes at the two of them, debating on whether or not he was buying Steve’s story. “Alright.” He tossed the bag to Steve. “There’s your new phone. Try not to destroy this one, okay?”

 

Steve caught the bag and pulled out the box. It was already set up so all he had to do was open it and turn it on. “Thanks.”

 

“Yeah.” Sam’s eyes were on Bucky, and he spoke to him next. “Can I talk to you for a minute? Somewhere not here?”

 

“Sam-”

 

“It’s fine.” Bucky stood, pausing before laying a warm hand on Steve’s shoulder. “I need to go, anyway.” He shoved his hands in his pockets, walking toward the door before throwing over his shoulder, “Keep in touch, okay?”

 

“Sure.” Steve still couldn’t quite believe that Bucky was even talking to him, but he’d take it. He watched Sam and Bucky walk out the door and busied himself with his phone, just to take his mind off whatever conversation was going on between them. He had almost decided to get up and go check on them when Sam came back in.

 

He took one look at Steve’s face and burst out laughing. “Oh my god, Rogers. Your face.” Sam flopped down into the chair that Bucky had just occupied. “Be proud, I didn’t even give him the shovel talk or anything. Yet.”

 

“Sam!”

 

“Look,” Sam laced his hands over his stomach and gave Steve his serious face. “I just asked him if he was sure about what he was doing.” He held up a hand. “I talked to him a little bit while you were out of it in the hospital and he actually seems like a decent guy.” Sam made a scrunched up face. “For a crazy, ex-military, car surfing thief, anyway. Though that was kind of badass.”

 

“What did he say?”

 

“He gave me the same look that you just gave me so I’ll take that at face value.” Sam shrugged. “Give it a go. I can always sic the FBI on him if I need to.”

 

Steve laughed for the first time in a while. “I think it’ll be okay, but thanks.”

 

“Anytime, man.”

 

\--

 

The next week was the best and absolute worst, all at the same time. Bucky stayed true to his word and they kept in touch, the conversation awkward and stilted at first and then smoothing out to a little bit of the banter they had shared for such a short period of time. Steve wasn’t housebound by any stretch of the imagination, but living in a third floor walkup made leaving the apartment an art in strategic planning.

 

Sam caught him trying to navigate the stairs by himself once and he was never going to do that again, if only to avoid the lectures and threats. It left him with a lot of time on his hands, which was never a good thing. Too much time gave him too much time to think, and get frustrated with the entire situation.

 

“Don’t you have, I don’t know, actual work to do?” Steve was being a shit and he knew it. Sam had gone above and beyond to help him out, but right now he was just tired of everything and Sam was a convenient target. “I don’t need a babysitter.”

 

Sam didn’t even glance his way from where he’d set up camp at Steve’s desk. “Stop acting like a child and maybe you won’t need a babysitter.” Steve made a frustrated noise and Sam just shook his head, completely unphased. “When is Bucky coming by?”

 

Steve glared at him. “Don’t know. Why?”

 

“Because that always puts your sour ass in a better mood.” Sam hit the enter key on the laptop with a flourish and turned around. “How’s that going?”

 

“How’s what going?” 

 

Sam rolled his eyes at Steve’s petulant expression. “I would kick you but I don’t want to break your other ankle.” He leaned back in the chair, making it creak. “Seriously, how are you two?”

 

“Fine, I guess.” Steve blew out a breath. “I mean we talk and stuff, you know, but-”

 

“But it’s not enough?”

 

“Yeah.” Steve slumped into the couch as much as he could without hurting himself. He absently thought that the couch was going to end up with a Steve-shaped space permanently pressed into it before he was better. “Does that make me awful?”

 

“Nope.” Sam gave him a searching look. “I don’t think you could be an awful person if you tried.”

 

Steve snorted. “Sure, if you don’t count the fact that I lied to him and then slept with him because I’m a selfish asshole.” Sam knew the whole damning story but that didn’t stop him from taking a sharp, shocked breath when Steve actually talked about it. “If you don’t count any of that stuff, I’m a real catch.”

 

“Have you tried talking to him about it?” 

 

“Are you kidding me?” If it wasn’t such an ordeal to get up, Steve would be pacing by now. “I don’t deserve the chance he’s given me. I’m not going to pile my bullshit on top of that.”

 

“It’s not bullshit.” Sam insisted, standing up to pace in Steve’s stead. “If you truly like the guy and there is a very big chance that he likes you back, you should just use your words and talk to him like an adult.”

 

“Why?” Steve’s voice was starting to rise as he gathered steam. “Why would I do that, Sam. I’m not that much of a masochist, no matter what you think.”

 

“I think the word you’re looking for is martyr.” Sam’s irritation at Steve’s obstinence was starting to bleed through. “Seriously! I mean, you made a mistake and he told you he wanted to give it another go. What’s stopping you?”

 

“Everything!” Steve was actively shouting and he wasn’t sure why. It felt good. “Everything is stopping me! I can’t just-”

 

There was a knock at the door and they both jerked their heads toward it, bringing the pseudo-argument to a halt. Sam stalked over and yanked the door open to find Bucky on the other side. “Oh, thank fucking Christ you’re here.”

 

“What is going on in here?” Bucky was a mixture of amusement and concern and Steve fought the grin that was instinctive upon seeing him. “I could hear you guys down the hall.” Steve had given him the code to get in after the first day, so it was always a nice surprise when he showed up.

 

Sam was busily packing up his work stuff. “I think we both need a breather. Someone,” he gave Steve a pointed look, “is pretty cranky.”

 

“I am  _ not _ cranky!” Steve bit his lip, realizing how childish he sounded. Bucky’s laughter at the two of them didn’t help matters.

 

“I rest my case.” Sam shoved the last file in his bag and clapped Bucky on the shoulder. His left shoulder, Steve noticed. “Good luck, man.” Sam pointed at Steve. “Remember what I said. Do the thing, Rogers.” He ducked out the door as a pillow flew his way. 

 

“You’re the worst, Wilson!” Steve shouted after Sam, feeling a little bit better with Bucky there. Sam was right, dammit, but he wasn’t going to admit it.

 

Bucky was still smiling to himself when he sat at the other end of the couch. “So what was that all about? Do the thing?” 

 

Steve flushed crimson. “Oh, Sam just being Sam.” It sounded lame even to him and Bucky looked at him skeptically. “I don’t know if you even want to be around me today.”

 

“Nah, it’s fine.” Bucky picked up the remote like he’d been doing it forever and started flipping through channels. Steve let himself marvel at that for a moment. How had they even gotten there? How had he managed to wind up watching television with someone that he thought would never speak to him again? Maybe there was something to what Sam had said.

 

Maybe.

 

Steve looked at the television, not really seeing it as Bucky settled on some procedural medical show. They were all the same, anyway. His silent warring with himself must have been evident because Bucky finally said, “What’s on your mind, Steve?”

 

It was more direct than Steve had been expecting. “Um.”  _ Very eloquent, Rogers. _ “Nothing.”

 

“Bullshit.” Bucky put his arm on the back of the couch and turned toward him. “I haven’t known Sam for very long but he doesn’t seem like the type of guy to get riled up by much.” He nodded toward the door. “That was a pretty heated argument.”

 

“It was my fault.” Steve took the blame immediately, hoping that he’d let it drop. “I’m cranky, remember?” Bucky gave him the skeptical face again and Steve crumbled, just a little. “Okay, fine. It was more than that, but it’s okay, really.”

 

“Okay.” Bucky left his arm on the back of the couch, his hand almost touching Steve’s shoulder. It was almost like an invitation. Steve’s hands itched to reach out but he wouldn’t be doing that until Bucky made the first move. Was this the first move? Was he being an idiot? Bucky put his arm down and stood up. “You want a drink or anything?”

 

“Water?” Bucky nodded and headed for the kitchen which left Steve in awe again of how Bucky was here in his apartment and knew where the glasses were. It was stupid, to be sure, but he couldn’t help it. A few minutes later, a glass of ice water was plunked down on the end table to his right and Bucky sat down, closer this time, almost in the middle of the couch. “Is this alright?” 

 

He was sitting close enough that his thigh was almost touching Steve’s outstretched left leg. Steve picked up his water and took a sip. “Sure.”

 

They sat there in companionable silence for a little while and Steve was busy trying not to look too much into Bucky’s proximity. So busy that he didn’t notice Bucky’s hand creeping toward his and hook their pinkies together. Such a small touch, tiny, but it sent a shock through his body like a bolt of lightning. He saw Bucky glance at him out of the corner of his eye.  _ Fuck it _ .

 

Steve covered Bucky’s hand with his own and they sat there, watching some dumb doctor show, holding hands like little kids. Such a small thing to mean so much more. It was a start.

 


	11. Chapter 11

CHAPTER 11

 

It was about a month into Steve’s medical leave when Sam finally had to cut back on the amount of time he could devote to the care and feeding of, in his words, the ‘worst patient on the planet, god help me’. So Steve had a lot of down time, a  _ lot _ of bad TV and too much time to think. The fact that he was finally off the pain pills and the crutches gave him leave to hobble around on the stupid boot all he wanted. Sam still insisted on getting groceries for him, but at least he could do his own laundry again. 

 

And then there was Bucky. In the end, Steve didn’t have to say a thing. They started out slow, with simple touches, and he never pushed. He let Bucky set the pace. It was a blessing that his body was still healing so that he didn’t do something stupid and move too fast, ask for too much, too soon.

 

It was Friday night, and he’d just settled in to watch some movie that he didn’t care about when there was a knock on the door. It had to be Bucky. Steve clomped over to the door to let him in. God, he couldn’t wait to get that fucking boot off. It itched and was generally annoying, but god help him if Sam, or even Bucky, caught him without it.

 

Bucky had plastic bags of takeout in his hands and a smile on his face. “How’s the ankle?” he asked. Steve moved to the side to allow him to squeeze by and head to the kitchen in something that was becoming routine for the two of them. “You’re getting that thing off soon, right?”

 

“A week, maybe two.” The doctor had said at least two more weeks but that wasn’t something he had to share. “I can’t wait.”

 

“I’ll bet.” Bucky sounded distracted. “You want a beer?”

 

“Sure.” Steve hovered in the living room. Now that he thought about it, he could have sworn that Bucky told him that he was going out with Clint and Natasha that night. And now he was here with dinner. It wasn’t like he didn’t want him there, but it was odd. “I thought you were going out tonight.”

 

He heard plates rattling, then Bucky appeared with their food and drinks. Steve took his and sat in his usual spot on the couch. Bucky wouldn’t meet his eyes and just picked up the remote to restart the movie, settling on the floor next to the coffee table. “Decided not to.”

 

“I thought you said-”

 

“Decided I wanted to come hang out with you instead.” Steve’s mouth shut with a click. Bucky still wasn’t looking at him, paying far more attention to the plate on the low coffee table and his beer. The movie started. Steve couldn’t even remember what he’d chosen to watch. 

 

“You did?”

 

Bucky finally looked at him. “Yeah.” He said like it was nothing. Like it was a known fact. Steve leaned forward and set his plate on the table.

 

“Why?”

 

Bucky put his fork down with a click and then to Steve’s horror, got up. He was going to leave. Steve had pushed and now he was going to walk out. Steve put his own plate down on the table, ready to get up and at least try to talk to him when Bucky grabbed his shoulder to stop. “Jesus Christ, Steve, calm down. I just didn’t want to be sitting on the floor for this.”

 

A wave of relief hit him and Steve relaxed back into the cushions. Bucky wasn’t going to leave, he was going to stay. He was...sitting very close to him. Their shoulders pressed together and Steve closed his eyes, opening them again when Bucky knocked his elbow into him. “What is  _ this _ ?” He had to know.

 

“I can’t get you out of my head, you know?” Bucky’s voice was so low that Steve could barely hear him, as close together as they were sitting. “I don’t-” He shook his head. “I don’t usually do this.”

 

“Do what?”

 

Bucky turned to look at him. His eyes were full of the warmth that Steve hadn’t seen since that night at the club, in Bucky’s bed. A spark of hope turned into a flood as Bucky leaned closer, their mouths barely an inch apart. 

 

“This.”

 

He pressed their lips together. It was a little awkward sitting side by side but Steve wouldn’t have moved for the world. Bucky’s metal hand came up to brush his cheek and Steve leaned into it, breaking the kiss. “I never stopped thinking about you.” Steve turned to kiss that metal palm, and Bucky sucked in a sharp breath. “I thought I’d lost you.” 

 

Bucky pulled one knee up on the couch to kiss Steve again and they both melted into it. It was different than before. Sweeter somehow. Steve moved without thinking, pulling his foot off the table with a thump. He jerked back, hissing in pain. Mostly healed didn’t mean all better. Bucky grabbed his shoulders for balance. “Are you okay?”

 

There was laughter in his voice and Steve had to snicker along. “Yeah. Just hurts when I throw it around like that.” He put a hand on Bucky’s chest. “Here, let me-” He shifted around so that he was leaning against the arm of the couch on the other end, foot and damned boot safely on the floor, the other leg stretched along the back of the couch. He gave Bucky a shy smile. “Try that again?” 

 

“Hell, yeah.” Bucky moved into the space that Steve had made for him, straddling Steve’s thigh and trapping his knee between it and the cushion. It was a little awkward and wasn’t quite as intimate as it might have been, but Steve was willing to take this as slow as Bucky wanted. Bucky cupped his face with both hands, pressing a kiss to his forehead that had Steve’s eyes fluttering closed. 

 

When their lips met again, it was more intense than before. Hotter, wetter. Steve truly got his hands on Bucky for the first time in weeks and felt like he was going to burn up from the inside in the best way possible. Bucky had somehow already lost his flannel shirt; Steve ran his hands up under his t-shirt, mapping the warm skin of his back. It was addictive. He’d convinced himself that he’d never have this again.

 

They had to stop and talk about this.

 

“Wait.” Bucky pulled back immediately. Steve kept a hand fisted in his shirt to keep him from moving too far away. “Are we okay?” 

 

Bucky tilted his head forward just enough so that their foreheads were pressed together. “Stevie.” His breath tickled Steve’s cheek. “Sweetheart.” Steve’s eyes closed and he swallowed past the sudden lump in his throat. “I’m not going to change my mind,” Bucky whispered as he  wrapped his arms around Steve the best he could. 

 

Steve was content to press his face into Bucky’s neck and breathe him in for a few moments before pulling back, relieved beyond words. He huffed out a laugh and pressed a chaste kiss to Bucky’s lips. “This is really uncomfortable, isn’t it.”

 

Bucky was laughing now too. “Yeah. I wasn’t going to be the one to say something, though.” He stood up and held out a hand. “You have a bed in this place, right?” He faltered. “I mean, only if you want-”

 

Steve took Bucky’s hand and pulled himself up, stepping close in to Bucky’s body and wrapping his arm around his waist. “I definitely want.” He reached up and tucked a stray strand of hair behind Bucky’s ear. Steve sighed and kissed him softly. “But I don’t think we should just yet.” Steve knew at that moment that they could easily fall in bed together. It would be fantastic and hot and everything that he’d been longing for, but if they didn’t do this right, that would be all it was. It seemed like Bucky wanted more than that, and Steve craved that something more as well. Craved having someone to call his and to belong to. 

 

Bucky nodded, pulling him in close. “You’re probably right.” His nose brushed the shell of Steve’s ear and he felt Bucky’s grin against his cheek just before he kissed his neck, making Steve shiver. “Though I can’t say that I’m not a little disappointed.”

 

“Is it too late to change my mind?” They broke apart before one or both of them immediately reneged on their agreement. Steve rubbed the back of his neck with one hand while Bucky adjusted the hem of his shirt that had been rumpled by Steve’s wandering hands. “Sorry. I just-” Steve blew out a breath. “I was trying to avoid sounding like we were in high school, but fuck it.” Bucky was grinning at him again and Steve was turning red. “I really like you, okay?” Bucky started laughing outright at that and Steve covered his face. “Fuck you.”

 

Bucky wrapped his arms around Steve again, sliding his hands up his back. He was still laughing and Steve tried very hard not to be a little hurt. He was about to push him away when Bucky murmured in his ear, “I really like you, too. And I want to see where this goes.” 

 

Steve moved just far enough away so that he could look him in the eye. “Really?”

 

“Really.” Bucky sobered. “Just don’t ever lie to me again, okay?” Steve looked away. That was something that was always going to be there, just under the surface. “Hey. Look at me.” Steve looked at him again, still ashamed of all the hurt that he had caused. “It’s okay. You made some bad choices and those choices hurt people.”  _ Hurt me _ , he didn’t say even though Steve heard it loud and clear. “We’ve all made mistakes. God knows it won’t be fun telling you about mine. Hell, you already know about some of mine.” 

 

“No more lies.” Steve choked the words out. “I swear.” 

 

“Good. Same back at you.” He pressed a hard kiss to Steve’s lips. “Okay. Now that we’re on the same page, how about we finish dinner and then make out on the sofa just a little bit?” 

 

“That is the best idea I’ve heard all night.”

 

\--

 

The next week was fantastic. Bucky came over every night to spare Steve the trek down the stairs in his stupid boot that he was almost done with and they spent hours on the couch together, trading lazy kisses and wandering hands. It was simultaneously the most wonderful and most frustrating thing he’d ever done. It didn’t help that they were both competitive little shits who liked to see how revved up they could get each other before they had to tap out.

 

It had started out innocently enough when Bucky had found that one spot on Steve’s neck that seemed like it was connected directly to his cock somehow. The noise he’d made had been more than a little embarrassing, but he knew from the gleam in Bucky’s eye that he was in trouble. It had kind of gone downhill from there. If it hadn’t been for that stupid boot they probably would have tumbled into bed days ago, but it was a constant reminder of what had happened and why they were supposed to be taking things slowly. 

 

Steve was having a hard time remembering whose stupid idea that had been in the first place. Bucky was there and they’d barely made it through dinner before they were all over each other. Steve was sitting on the couch with Bucky straddling his thighs and  _ christ _ they were both idiots. He tilted his head back to give Bucky more access to his throat and felt him grin against his skin as he let out a groan. “Fuck.”

 

“I’d be up for that.” Bucky laughed where he was curled over Steve’s body before sitting back to look down at Steve, eyes shining and face flushed. He caught the look in Steve’s eye and stopped laughing. “What?”

 

Steve bit his lip and thought  _ what the hell.  _ “Are we being stupid about this?” He ran a hand up and down Bucky’s arm, suddenly nervous. “I mean, the last thing I want to do is pressure you but-”

 

“Oh, thank god.” Bucky clambered off of him so quickly that he almost fell over. “No pressure, trust me. Maybe you can do without this for a little while?” Steve nodded and Bucky dropped to his knees to gently unfasten the boot. He put it to the side and pressed in closer between Steve’s knees to kiss him. “Want to?”

 

“Yes, please.” Steve grinned at Bucky’s laugh and let himself get helped up off the couch. He was still being careful, but being upright without that stupid thing felt better than it should. Still, he found himself suddenly afraid to put weight on the leg without its support. “Um.”

 

Bucky looked down at where Steve was balancing on one foot and shrugged. “Right.” In a blink, Bucky dipped his shoulder down and Steve found himself slung over it, making a surprised squeak that he would never admit to later. 

 

“Bucky!” Steve struggled for a second before receiving a sharp slap on the ass.

 

“Stop it or I’ll drop you. You’re heavier than you look.” 

 

Steve rolled his eyes but couldn’t hold back the grin as he was carried to his bedroom and dumped unceremoniously on the mattress. He wouldn’t have had it any other way.

 

\--

 

Steve woke slowly the next morning, blinking against the light streaming in through the window. It took him a moment to realize what was missing, and that was Bucky in his bed. He rolled over onto his back and blinked up at the ceiling, wondering, when he heard a clatter in the kitchen and low voices.

 

He sat up and stretched, relishing the twinge of soreness in his muscles, and grinned. Bucky was still here. And unless he was talking to himself, that was Sam out there. Steve’s grin faltered. He’d talked to Sam about Bucky, of course he had, but he wasn’t sure of Sam’s reaction to all of this. Only one way to find out.

 

Steve swung his legs over the edge of the bed and the lightness without the stupid boot threw him for a minute. He had no doubt that it was still going to be sore, and he needed to be careful. His doctor, and probably Sam, would read him the riot act for taking it off before his appointment, but he didn’t care. He gingerly hobbled over to his dresser, pulling on pajama pants and a t-shirt. 

 

He followed the voices to find Bucky perched on the counter and Sam at the stove, cooking eggs and bacon like he lived there. Bucky must have heard him because his head came up and he gave Steve a blinding grin. Steve returned it, knowing he must look sappy as hell, but he couldn’t help but be charmed by the fact that Bucky was wearing a pair of his sweatpants and a tank top that showed off both of his arms to advantage. 

 

“Morning, sleepyhead.” Bucky reached his hand out to Steve and he limped forward to take it, allowing him to pull him into the vee of his legs. Bucky ran a warm hand up to the back of Steve’s neck and gave him a chaste kiss on the lips. “Hey.”

 

“Hey, yourself.” Steve leaned into him, wrapping his arms around Bucky’s shoulders and holding him close. A throat cleared behind them and he smiled, pressing his face into Bucky’s neck as Bucky’s shoulders shook with suppressed laughter. Steve turned around to look at Sam, leaning back against Bucky’s chest. “Morning to you, too.”

 

Sam rolled his eyes. “As adorable as all this is,” he gestured with a spatula, “breakfast is ready.” 

 

Bucky pressed a kiss to the back of Steve’s neck and gently moved him out of the way so that he could get down. “Magic words if I ever heard ‘em.” 

 

Steve shook his head and grabbed the coffee pot to take it to the table. This was what he had always wanted. They still had plenty to talk about, but he thought this thing with Bucky was going somewhere. He hoped it was. 

 

Bucky looked up at him from the table where he and Sam were squabbling over a particularly crispy piece of bacon, smiling around the piece he had already crammed in his mouth. Yeah, this was exactly what Steve had always wanted.

 


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This epilogue is all for you, Callie4180. All for you :)

CHAPTER 12 - Epilogue (six months later)

 

Steve threw his arm over his eyes and groaned. “We’re going to be late.”

 

“So?”

 

“So, they’re all going to know  _ why _ we’re late. Again.”

 

“You really want me to stop?”

 

Steve looked down his body to where his ridiculous boyfriend was crammed into the back floorboard of the Chevelle, mouth inches away from Steve’s cock. No, he absolutely did  _ not _ want him to stop. Steve thumped his head back down on the seat. “Fine.”

 

“I will drive you there just like this, I swear to god.” Steve didn’t think he’d really do that but he wasn’t going to take any chances.

 

He groped for Bucky’s hand and pulled him up so that he was laying on top of him, their legs awkwardly tangled together. Steve kissed him hard and ran his hands down Bucky’s back to grab two handfuls of his ass, grinding their hips together. He winced a little at the roughness of the denim, but it was worth it for the noises that Bucky made. “Sorry. It’s just, this backseat is not quite big enough for the two of us.”

 

“But it’s kinda hot, right?” Bucky waggled his eyebrows at him in the moonlight and Steve barked out a laugh. God, he loved this man. It wasn’t something they said all that often but times like this made it overflow so that he couldn’t  _ not _ say it.

 

He ran his hand through Bucky’s hair. “Love you.”

 

Bucky’s face softened. He traced a finger over Steve’s bottom lip. “Love you too.” He raised up so that he could look Steve in the eye. “You do realize that we probably have minutes before we’re going to have to worry about more than being late for the cookout, right? How are you going to explain getting arrested for public indecency to your buddies?”

 

He had a point. “Yeah, okay.” Steve kissed him again and Bucky lowered himself back down, kissing and nipping at Steve’s stomach where he had pushed his t-shirt up. Steve threw his back, pressing it into the seat where he was sprawled on his back and stifled a loud moan when Bucky’s hot mouth engulfed his cock.  _ God, it wouldn’t take long like this _ . They knew exactly how to get each other off, and Bucky was pulling out all his tricks. 

 

A minute later, he was biting down on his bottom lip almost hard enough to draw blood as Bucky swallowed around him. He came with a loud whimper that he was sure someone could probably hear outside the car, his hands tangled in Bucky’s shirt. The windows were already fogging up from their panting breaths, and the cover of darkness in the empty factory lot would only go so far. 

 

“Jesus Christ.” Steve lifted his hips just enough to pull his boxers and jeans back up before hauling Bucky back up to kiss and lick the last taste of himself out of his mouth. “The things you do to me.”

 

Bucky grinned against his lips. “Yeah, I’m awesome. When does that guard come by again?” He ground his hard cock against Steve’s thigh. “I’m dying here, sweetheart.” 

 

“Can’t have that.” They switched places, Steve’s open jeans riding low and both of them giggling at the tight space. The Chevelle was not a small car, but they were not small men, either. It had been his fault really. He hadn’t been able to keep his hands off Bucky after seeing him race in his first legal race in years. It had been all he could do not to drop to his knees right there in the gravel by the car. They’d held it together until they were almost home before wandering hands had them finding a dark place to get it on like teenagers in the back seat.

 

He worked his way down Bucky’s body, rucking up his t-shirt to flick his tongue across a sensitive nipple just to get the jerk of a reaction. He let Bucky guide him, fingers wound firmly in his hair, keeping him in place to nip and suck at him before tugging him down toward his denim-clad cock. Steve unfastened Bucky’s jeans and tugged them down, snorting at the fact that he had apparently gone commando that day. “If I’d known, I would have jumped you an hour ago.” 

 

“Oh my god, Steve, you’re killing me.”

 

“Patience, baby.” 

 

“Suck my dick.”

 

“Not with that attitude.” Steve sucked a mark into the skin right at Bucky’s hipbone, earning a tug to his hair that would have had his dick interested if he hadn’t just come minutes before. He gave Bucky’s cock a couple of strokes before taking it into his mouth, hands gripping hips that wanted to buck up and choke him. He loved riling Bucky up to the point where he lost control, forgetting to hold back. 

 

Bucky’s hold on his hair encouraged a quick pace and Steve obliged, adding a careful scrape of teeth here and there. He heard the muffled noises that Bucky was making and knew that he was close, his metal hand clamped over his mouth. They would have to do this again at home later; he loved the fact that Bucky was loud. He got a tug of warning and he sucked hard, ready for the bitterness that filled his mouth a few seconds later.

 

He swallowed and extricated himself from the floorboard, crawling back up Bucky’s body to kiss him hungrily, so turned on that he was closer than not to being ready to go again.

 

“You sure you don’t want to just go home?” Bucky let out a breathless laugh. “Fuck me, Rogers.”

 

“Mmmm. Definitely later.” Steve kissed him again and sat up the best he could in the cramped space with Bucky sprawled across most of the seat. He got a good look at Bucky in the low light and started to laugh. “Oh my god, your hair.” There was no mistaking Bucky’s sex hair for anything other than what it was.

 

Bucky kicked at him as he sat up, lifting up so that he could very carefully put himself in order. He ran his hand through his hair and grimaced at the tangles. Then he shrugged. “Might as well give them something to tease us about, right?”

 

“Preemptive strike,” Steve agreed. They looked at each and broke up laughing, leaning into each other as they giggled. He gave Bucky another kiss before straightening his own clothes. “We better go.” 

 

“Yep. Watch out.” Steve leaned out of the way as Bucky wormed back into the driver’s seat. It wasn’t graceful and he had to duck to avoid being kicked in the face, but Steve wasn’t that much better. Bucky cranked the car when they were both settled, the roar of the engine echoing through the empty lot. “Ready?”

 

“Might as well get it over with.” Steve sighed. He really loved his new found family, but they could definitely be a pain in the ass sometimes.

 

Bucky smirked and put the car into gear. “That’s the spirit!” He leaned over and Steve met him halfway, smiling into another kiss. “Love you, punk.”

 

“Right back at you, jerk.” 

 

He revved the engine and the tires barked as they caught on the blacktop, rocketing them forward into the night. Steve flicked on the radio and the music blared:

 

_ On I burn _

_ Fuel is pumping engines _

_ Burning hard, loose and clean _

_ And on I burn _

_ Churning my direction _

_ Quench my thirst with gasoline _

 

_ Give me fuel, give me fire _

_ Give me that which I desire _

 

He looked over at Bucky and took in his profile, highlighted by the streetlights. This was it. All that he’d ever wanted and more. Bucky saw him looking and reached out for his hand, lacing their fingers together over the gearshift. 

 

Till the end of the line.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My original fiction website is https://www.jcozwrites.com/. Thanks for reading!

**Author's Note:**

> My original fiction website is https://www.jcozwrites.com/. Thanks for reading!

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Give Me Fuel, Give Me Fire Fanart](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11865156) by [faceisamess](https://archiveofourown.org/users/faceisamess/pseuds/faceisamess)




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